


holocron shards

by spookykingdomstarlight



Series: stereopsis [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Character Death, Dark Leia Organa, Dark Luke, Fade to Black, M/M, Minor Leia Organa/Han Solo, TIE Pilot Biggs, Time Skips, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8801530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “The things I should be doing hold very little interest to me,” Luke said, twisting the fierce sense of ownership he felt for Biggs into something lighter, something he was willing to share. Frankly, he trusted Biggs with his misgivings. He hoped, one day, to trust Biggs with even more than that.





	

**I**

“This is it, huh?” Biggs asked, striding off the ramp ahead of Luke at Luke’s behest, his head down, then up, swiveling left and right, this way and that. It happened to people who hadn’t spent their lives on Imperial Center, this disorientation. They never knew quite where to look at first. Everything on Imperial Center sparkled too much, dazzled too quickly. Biggs, at least, handled it better than most and pretended his awe hadn’t reached into his heart to open a chasm of fear in his chest. Imperial Center was big and it was dark—no amount of artificial light could turn it otherwise. Even people who weren’t sensitive to the Force could feel it.

“Yeah,” Luke answered, fingers wrapping around Biggs’s shoulder in a brief squeeze, a gesture he meant to be soothing. Whether it was was another thing entirely. “This is it.”

**II**

The suite adjoining Luke’s had always been empty before. It would, at some point, probably find itself empty again. For one reason or another. But for now, he asked— _asked_ —Biggs to take them. “You’re free to say no, of course,” Luke said, unconcerned because he knew Biggs wouldn’t say no and because he didn’t want Biggs to think it was important one way or the other.

“Of course,” Biggs answered, sly, like he knew there was danger here and knew, too, how to avoid it. His eyes, again, couldn’t find anywhere to settle, but he handled himself gamely when he realized it and turned his gaze on Luke instead. The overwhelming weight of his decision to come here receded with each moment he didn’t have to think about how big this room was and how many more of them would belong to him once he started investigating the expanse of his quarters. Luke allowed him a moment of mental privacy and a moment to regain his composure and was rewarded for his patience with a lopsided grin. “But why would I?”

**III**

The Emperor’s staff talked. His scientists talked. His favored military leaders talked. They talked and talked and talked and the Emperor did nothing about it, caring little for lesser concerns such as these. The less concerned the Emperor was, Luke admitted only to himself, the better, but that didn’t stop it from rankling, too.

They talked right up until Lieutenant Commander Zzale suffered a freak accident during one of the Emperor’s numerous meetings, tedious affairs that Luke had been tasked with attending long ago while the Emperor locked himself away as a precaution against assassination and because he preferred leaving the dirty work of governance to others. As Krennic spoke from the front of the room, hands sketching in the air around the holographic blueprints of his precious Death Star, Zzale found himself choking. Freak accidents were like that. He coughed and sputtered and Krennic finally, finally stopped droning about the battle station’s final preparations long enough to say, “Lothcat got your tongue, Zzale?”

Krennic, nor anyone else, could understand what Zzale felt in that moment, a tight pressure in his mouth, an unnatural stretching of the muscles in the back of his throat, the snap of his hyoid bone as he lost consciousness. They couldn’t see any of what had been done to him. Just the result.

Krennic’s eyes drifted to Luke, who, like always, had chosen to stand along the back wall, eschewing the seat that was always left open for him simply because it displeased Krennic. “Feel free to continue whenever you like, Director,” he said, offering a thin-lipped smile.

As Krennic tipped his head in acknowledgment, a flash of anger surged in him, quickly stifled, quickly locked away. Like the flare of a match, that was what Krennic was. Snapping his fingers, he pointed at the figure now slumped at the table. “Get the man to medical, would you?” he demanded of no one in particular.

Which was inconvenient for Zzale considering no one particularly wanted to help him. A young man and woman finally stepped up to grab him, twin shrugs lifting their shoulders, when nobody else climbed to their feet to assist.

Regardless, no one talked after that. Not in Luke’s hearing anyway. Considering Luke’s reach, though, that amounted to the same thing.

Sighing, Krennic pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thanks to Lord Skywalker’s unique and invaluable insights into our engineering programs,” he said, not a little aggrieved to have to concede this point, “the problem with the Death Star’s exhaust ports has been corrected.” Fiery-eyed, his gaze snapped again to Luke. “And the saboteur neutralized. We’ll be ready to proceed with a demonstration inside of two months.”

**IV**

Luke often walked the old Jedi gardens that covered every flat surface on the outside of the Imperial Palace. They had, of course, long since been smothered beneath the weight of duracrete and chromium, some turned to landing pads and some becoming training grounds for the Emperor’s Royal Guard and some simply ravaged, burned and poisoned in perpetuity, nothing but char left behind to remind everyone, in one small way, of the Emperor’s might.

Luke stayed away from those spots—not because he wanted to avoid thinking about the Emperor’s might, but simply because he found the displays especially ugly and childish, not least because they were all places Luke remembered from his childhood as being green and lush and full of life.

It was hard not to take that kind of thing personally.

Still, he enjoyed the feel of fresh air on his face, the glint of speeders going about their ordered business in the skylanes, the knowledge that, if he looked up, he might see the streak of Biggs’s TIE on patrol above the palace, twisting and turning overhead with far more grace than most veteran TIE pilots managed on their best days.

Mostly, he remained undisturbed up here, too. Another upside.

The operative term, of course, was mostly.

“Brother,” Leia said, jogging up the cool, hard pathway toward him. A sardonic smile ticked at the corner of her mouth as she caught up. “I thought I’d find you out here.”

Luke stopped his forward progress, turned, and stuffed his hands into his armpits. It could get cold up here when the wind whipped up. Too bad he hadn’t thought to bring gloves. His sister, on the other hand, wore gloves and head-to-toe black, a quilted vest covering her chest, and long-sleeves down her arms. She was far more sensible than him apparently. “Leia. What seems to be the problem?”

“There’s no problem,” she said, airy, _too_ airy. “Can’t I just want to see you?”

“You can,” Luke said, peering up at the sky again. “But you don’t. What are you even doing back on Imperial Center? I thought you were stalking the Outer Rim hyperspace lanes ‘looking for a good time and easy credits.’”

“You’re growing as suspicious as father,” she replied, ignorning the jab and grabbing Luke briefly by the scruff of his neck before sliding her arm all the way around his shoulder. Pointing at the sky, she looked at Luke. “Is that him?”

Luke shrugged out from under her touch. “It is.”

Whistling, Leia tracked his progress across the lower atmosphere. “He’s good.”

 _He’s the best_ , Luke thought, carefully shielding the correction behind a surface layer of agreement. Leia didn’t need to know how highly he regarded Biggs. No one needed to know that. No one, frankly, deserved to know—except Biggs. And even to him, Luke still wasn’t ready to admit it. “Is that why you’re here?”

Leia’s eyes flashed, amused, lighting up in a way that few beings could ignore. “Maybe,” she admitted. “I wanted to see what all the fuss is about.”

“And what do you think?”

She turned those flashing, amused eyes on him, searching. “I think either you’re in trouble or the rest of us are. I haven’t decided where to place my bet yet.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about from me.” _You never have. And you never will_. This, he refused to obfuscate for her, even though the Emperor might consider such sentiments a weakness.

“Well,” she replied, a sense of pleasure breaking across their bond in the Force. “I knew that.”

She hadn’t, but Luke chose not to contradict her. Trust was an unstable commodity in the Emperor’s court. All he could do was prove to her, again and again, that he would never take a course of action against her.

He believed, quite easily, that she would always do the same for him.

It’s how they worked. It was how they’d always worked.

“So when do I get to meet him?” she asked.

Luke smiled. “Whenever you want, dear sister.”

**V**

Luke awoke to the sound of blaster fire in his living room, a scuffle, and the bright burst of terror from a being who was experiencing life for the very last time. Perfectly awake within seconds, he called his lightsaber to his hand, wrenched the door to his bedroom nearly off its tracks with the Force, and took firm mental hold of every single thing that saw fit to squirm while he took stock of the situation.

He willed the lights to come on, blazingly bright in contrast to what had come before.

Human. Sprawled on the floor. Imperial armor. Smoking hole in his back. A twitch of life in her hand as she stretched her fingers. With a flick of his hand, she moved no more.

Another human. Held on his tiptoes by an invisible touch to his throat. Not deadly, but could be if Luke lifted a little bit higher, gripped a little bit harder. Dark hair. Dark mustache. Dark—

“Biggs!” Rushing forward, Luke released his hold on Biggs, glad he hadn’t taken a more harsh tack, and replaced it with a gentler grip on his elbow.

“You’re a heavy sleeper,” he said, voice rasping like it had been dragged through rocks. His fingers massaged his throat and up toward his jaw, his skin a little red from the pressure Luke had exerted.

“I can afford to be,” Luke replied, reaching up to brush Biggs’s fingers aside. He replaced them with his own, Biggs’s heartbeat strong and unrelenting under his touch. “Here, allow me.” This wasn’t a technique he’d learned from the Emperor, nor even from his father, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Closing his eyes, he allowed the Force to flow through him, a little hesitant and murky, but calm, too. It wasn’t as easy for him as it might have been for the Jedi who’d created the holocron he’d found the information on, but when he focused his mind on healing the ruptured capillaries and bruised muscles in Biggs’s neck, it worked. And that was what mattered.

After a moment, Biggs’s skin was as perfect as ever. “Better?” Luke asked, reluctant to take his hand away, his thumb skimming against the hard jut of bone behind his ear.

“Yeah,” Biggs said, quiet, his breath ghosting across Luke’s cheek. “You get visitors like that all the time?”

“More often than I’d like.” Luke shrugged, let himself lean in a little bit, his eyes lingering on Biggs’s lips. “Less often than I probably deserve.”

“Oh,” Biggs said, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good to know.”

“Yeah.” Luke forced himself to step back, brushing at the thin shirt he wore to bed. “Thank you, Biggs. I’ll take it from here.”

“Are you sure?” Suspicious, Biggs glanced around the room. Luke felt no other disturbances in the Force. There would be no more intruders tonight, but Biggs didn’t know that.

“Yeah.” Luke nodded toward the door that separated his quarters from Biggs’s. “Go get some rest and—thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Biggs nodded, reluctant, but did as Luke asked, retreating backward, eyes not leaving Luke’s face until he reached the door connecting their quarters. Dubious, like he wanted to say something, he keyed the lock on the wall. “Have a good night, my lord.”

Luke suspected that wasn’t what he’d wanted to say, but he decided against pushing Biggs for more. He also didn’t ask Biggs to call him by his name.

**VI**

The Emperor’s collection of loyal beings stared up at the holofeed being projected in the middle of the ballroom. Stalking around the edge of the of the room, Luke sipped at his drink, a champagne from Alderaan and in poor taste at that. Not that anyone else noticed, so focused were they on this exclusive view, this once-in-a-lifetime event taking place lightyears away from them, a spectacle to be wondered at. Large and garish and impossible to miss, the holoprojector, powered by the latest technology, transmitted in perfectly clarity for every witness who had been lucky enough to earn an invitation.

The destruction of an entire planet, caught by a thousand camdroids, ship’s cams, and personal recorders.

And broadcast at a delay to every world within the Empire’s reach—and some outside of it.

Luke found it all very distasteful and worse: short-sighted.

Silence descended on the group as the laser fired, as it crossed space to reach its target, as that target tore itself to pieces, nothing more than dust ejected into the void, sparkling hot and bright. For a long moment, no one spoke, no one _breathed_ and then—one lone creature clapped, slow, from the very middle of the group gathered around him. Mas Amedda, of course, releasing whatever pressure kept the others from uttering a sound, because suddenly a raucous cheer exploded through the crowd, so pained and fevered to cover for the terror clawing at their hearts that it made Luke wince.

While everyone was distracted, Luke slipped from the room, grabbing a pair of glasses from a droid on his way out.

He found Biggs in the pilots’ ready room along with just about every other pilot currently stationed on Imperial Center it seemed, each one of them riveted to the HoloNews reports coming in on the tail of the demonstration. It had been over with for five minutes already, but they were only just being let in on the new reality shaping itself up around them.

No one noticed his entrance, not until he tapped the nearest pilot on the shoulder anyway. “Get Darklighter for me,” he said, pushing the pilot into the morass of people around them before he could so much as acknowledge the order.

The pilot in question shoved his way through, winding as quickly as he could, no doubt hoping to avoid Lord Skywalker’s wrath now that he knew Luke was there. As more people noticed his presence, the more they shifted uneasily. Their outward behavior was so very different from that of the upper echelons—and yet, deep down, they were all the same, frightened subjects of a ruler who could now destroy any world that opposed him.

Biggs turned and found a weak smile, a wave, and a word of thanks for Luke’s messenger. The crowd parted for him more easily than it had for the other pilot, giving a bigger share of their attention to Luke and Biggs than Luke thought the situation warranted. But if they needed a distraction, who was Luke to tell them to do otherwise? If it got out of hand, he had the means to put them all back into line.

“Celebratory drinks, huh?” Biggs said, taking one of the glasses from Luke’s hand and swallowing half of its contents in one go.

“Is that what this is?” Luke asked. “A celebration?”

Biggs’s eyes scanned the hallway as they abandoned the ready room. “It certainly looks like it to me,” Biggs said, the tone of his voice strange, impenetrable. “The thing is a marvel.”

“It’s a menace,” Luke said. “Calling it a marvel just covers the fact.”

Tilting his head, Biggs glanced at him askance, amused and concerned, as he took another sip of his drink. “Should you be telling me this, my lord?”

“The things I should be doing hold very little interest to me,” Luke said, twisting the fierce sense of ownership he felt for Biggs into something lighter, something he was willing to share. Frankly, he trusted Biggs with his misgivings. He hoped, one day, to trust Biggs with even more than that.

“Okay,” Biggs said, nodding, as though it made sense that Luke would talk about this with him. Luke, who shared confidences with no one except Leia—sometimes. The best thing about Biggs though? He could go with just about anything that got thrown at him.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all,” he answered, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black flight suit. His shoulders and back took on a loose-limbed quality, suggesting enough ease that Luke felt he didn’t have to worry. “Do you want me to be?”

 _No,_ Luke thought. And though Luke might not have said it, Biggs seemed to understand the gist of it anyway. _No, I don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable_.

**VII**

“I’d like to have you promoted,” Luke said, stabbing at a slice of fruit on his plate. He sat across from Biggs, who had, until this moment, expressed the heartiness of his appetite by devouring everything in sight. Now, now he lowered his knife and fork and threatened to take apart the table with the force of the glare he shot at it.

“You want to ground me.”

Luke stilled, fork halfway to his mouth. If Luke were inclined to make a statement about it, it wouldn’t have been that one. “I—no?” He placed the fork on his plate, pushed all of it to the side to lean toward Biggs. “You wouldn’t have to fly patrols anymore, but—”

“I _like_ flying patrols.”

Anger radiated cold throughout his body, unusual and uncomfortable. Few people saw fit to question Luke about his decisions and desires, not anywhere near as brazenly as Biggs was doing right now. And not when Luke was _doing it for the man’s own good_. His hand tightened into a fist, knuckles cracking, but that didn’t distract Biggs, who’d decided glaring at Luke was a better use of his time than glaring at the table had been.

Breathing deeply, Luke huffed an unamused laugh. “You’re wasted flying patrols,” he said, reasonable. “Everyone knows it. _Tarkin_ knows it.”

“Tarkin?”

Luke nodded, stretched the hand he’d curled into a fist and laced his fingers together. “You’re welcome to transfer to the Death Star if you’d like—” _No, that’s not true at all_. “—but the Emperor has given me permission to put together my own team of pilots. I’d like you to lead it.”

Biggs’s brows furrowed in confusion, but he’d lost some of his consternation. “Why would you need a squadron here on Imperial Center?”

Luke grinned and leaned forward even more, ducking his head a little to peer up at Biggs. “I don’t,” he said through lowered lashes. “The Emperor has had more than a few problems with…” He looked away. “…resistance in some areas. I’ve been tasked with taking care of some of these problems.”

Biggs’s mouth pinched thoughtfully, his usual good cheer returning almost as quickly as it had faded. He plucked a thin slice of green _rilla_ from his plate and folded it between his fingers before placing it into his mouth. Swallowing, he asked, “So it’s you or the Death Star, huh?”

“Those are your choices,” Luke said, showing his open palms. “I’d like to think one of those options is more palatable than the other.”

“I don’t know,” Biggs said, rubbing at his chin. “Tarkin’s a war hero.”

“Tarkin treats his troops like cannon fodder because his vanity won’t let him retreat from battle.” Luke’s eyebrow quirked. “I don’t know that that qualifies as heroic in anything but the loosest of terms, do you?”

Biggs’s eyes sparkled. “So you’re worried about me.”

Luke lifted his chin, a challenge, a _demand_ in some ways, and a claim. It was all of those things and more. If Biggs wanted him to deny it, he was in for a rude awakening. “Does that bother you?”

Biggs’s head tipped down to hide the smile that crossed his face. “Not in the slightest.”

“Does that mean you’ll consider my proposal?”

“Oh, I’ll consider it, my lord,” he said, a laugh in his voice.

Something told Luke he’d made his case, even though Biggs didn’t confirm it for him. “Pick your team, Biggs. Whomever you trust best. Whomever is the most skilled, I want them with you.”

**VIII**

“According to information obtained by Grand Moff Tarkin, the rebels have retreated to Yavin,” Luke said, turning a sardonic look toward Captain Needa as he accompanied Luke to the _Avenger’s_ bridge. Biggs strode alongside him, not even bothering to walk at the respectful half-step behind him that Needa had adopted without even thinking about it. “The Emperor wants the threat neutralized quietly and thoroughly.”

“I wasn’t aware he’d learned anything, my lord,” Needa replied. He spoke evenly and without much inflection. “Are you certain?”

Luke smirked and clasped his hands behind his back. “It turns out someone aboard that battle station knows how to keep a secret,” he replied. “No one knew. And I’m as certain as the Emperor. That should be good enough for you.”

“But—” Needa slowed, forcing Luke to slow as well—and swing around to look at him.

“You have a concern, Captain?” He whipped his hand toward the empty hallway around them, certain that it was empty on purpose. “Voice it.”

“It’s been weeks since the Death Star’s test. That’s when Tarkin learned this, did he not?” Needa swallowed and looked at a spot over Luke’s shoulder. “The rebels could have abandoned Yavin entirely in the meantime.”

“They have begun evacuations,” Luke said, “but they haven’t completed them.”

Needa nodded, clearly dubious, but willing to trust what Luke was telling him. “How did he find out?”

“A little bird, Captain,” Luke said, mourning—just a little—never having had the opportunity to meet Bail Organa for himself. He’d always admired the man for his convictions. “Regardless, it hardly matters to the individual in question anymore, so it shouldn’t concern you either.”

“Of course, sir,” Needa said, body snapping into a straighter, even stiffer version of his normal posture. “We will proceed at your order.”

“Thank you, Captain. I’ll join you on the bridge shortly.”

**IX**

“Won’t they realize we’re here, sir?”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Luke replied, tugging gloves on before pressing the sequence of numbers on the keypad that would let him into his shuttle. His attention flicked over to Biggs, already sitting in TIE fighter, his fingers flying over the various consoles inside. He looked up briefly to nod at Luke and got back to work.

“I thought we were to neutralize the threat.”

“All in good time, Captain Needa,” Luke said, affable, clapping the man on the shoulder. “I’m endeavoring to do just that, I can assure you. Had the Emperor wanted the place leveled, well, he now has that capability well within his grasp. He chose to send me instead. That tells you something, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t mean—”

“You did.” Stepping onto the ramp, he bowed slightly in Needa’s direction. “And I can respect that, but don’t let it happen again.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Trace every hyperspace jump you can get a lock on. Do not engage unless they shoot first and only do minimal damage to them if they do. I want them off-balance. I don’t want you pushing them into a desperate last stand. Do you understand?”

Needa saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Captain? This ‘sir’ business? It’s unnecessary,” Luke insisted, the ramp retracting as he slammed his palm against a button on the inside of his ship. “I’m not in your chain of command.”

Nodding a little weakly, Needa offered one final acknowledgment before the ramp closed Luke in entirely. Engaging the comms, Luke said, “Gray Two, report.”

“Acknowledged, Gray Leader,” Biggs answered, prompt and crisp, as serious here as he was carefree outside of the cockpit. “Gray Squadron reports ready.”

Luke took his seat and pulled his lap and shoulder restraints into place. “Thank you, Gray Two. Follow my lead. Keep their X-wings occupied, but don’t go for blood unless you have to. Prepare for launch.”

“Yes, sir.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but said nothing, aware they weren’t the only ones on the comm. “Stay safe out there, Gray Squadron,” he said, somewhat for the benefit of the rest of his team, though mostly he meant it for Biggs.

**X**

“You can stop now,” Luke called, stepping into the hangar the rebels had carved out of the Great Temple. A waste, possibly. The Emperor had bemoaned the loss of the Temple when he’d learned of it and wanted it back. Luke didn’t care one way or the other and would gladly have flattened it if it got him what he wanted.

Luckily, his goals and the Emperor’s could align in this case.

“Your ships are away.” He held his lightsaber hilt in his hand, but kept his arms wide, presenting a large target for anyone who wanted to take a shot. “I even let your precious X-wings go.” He took a step, felt fear vibrate through the Force, ringing from here and here and here. “You were all very brave to stay behind while the others escaped.”

No answer.

He read subterfuge in the Force, too, knew these people were stalling for time. That… would not do. He wrenched a body out from behind a stack of crates, shoved her to the ground. “I’d happily let you go if you stop what you’re doing right now.”

At least a few did, though one seemed intent to lay one… last…

Luke snapped the wires leading from the explosive to the rest of the improvised payloads deeper in the compound. Having found that one thread, he stripped the wires all the way down, metal screeching distantly as the rebels’ last ditch efforts crumbled before them.

“They left one ship behind, didn’t they? Just in case?” Luke tsked and shook his head. “There’s so much hope in you.” He snapped his fingers and pointed toward the ship in question. “Go.”

A blaster bolt fired from the back of the hangar, easily deflected. Sparks sprayed from the wall where it landed, shards of rock clattering to the floor in the silence that followed the shot being taken.

He could have made it ricochet back into the chest of the rebel in question. He could have made it hit someone else. He could, in fact, have guided it toward the only way off this planet save his own ship and disabled it. Instead, he waved his hand, closing his eyes. “You will go.”

Dazed, the lingering rebels did as they were told and they didn’t know why, wouldn’t be able to explain it to leadership even if they wanted to.

**XI**

“Gray Two,” Luke said into his personal comm as he stared down at the computer before him, his datapad hanging from the half-destroyed innards, blinking in shades of green as he copied the contents. “One last ship. Let it through. I’ll be on my way shortly.”

“Everything good on your end, Gray Leader?”

“Yes.” He glanced around at the destruction the rebels had wrought amongst themselves. The scent of fried copper and the sound of sizzling hardware accosted Luke’s senses, but he couldn’t have been happier. “I think I’ve found what I’m looking for. Inform Captain Needa we’ll be back on board shortly.”

“Will do. Gray Two out.”

The datapad flashed, signaling it was finished downloading what it could get off of the rebels’s computer systems.

Sadly for them, it was probably going to end up being a lot more than they would have wanted in Imperial hands. Next time, they’ll have to be more careful.

**XII**

The _Avenger_ wasn’t Luke’s favorite place in the galaxy to find himself stationed, not that he would have admitted it. Considering he hadn’t been stationed _anywhere_ before, he didn’t have all that much to compare it to. Still. Captain Needa still hadn’t figured out how to approach him in a way that didn’t set his teeth on edge and it took all of his self-control to stop himself from destroying the man on the spot some days. But until the Emperor saw fit to hand over a Star Destroyer to Luke directly, he had to make do.

And, knowing the Emperor, if Luke did something about it, the next captain he sent Luke’s way would be worse. So.

 _So_.

He bit his tongue and kept a firm hold on every single annoyance that threatened to bubble over into something much, much more powerful and toxic and troublesome.

It wasn’t easy. Captain Needa was no Vice Admiral Sloane, that was for sure.

Luke didn’t like things that weren’t easy.

Luke spent a lot of time walking the deepest depths of the ship pondering how much he didn’t like things that weren’t easy.

**XIII**

The Jedi said the Force sang to you in meditation. Some Jedi anyway. Or one Jedi did at least. A woman from some long dead planet with a voice like smooth, soft music all on its own speaking to him from the past through a recording meant for better people than Luke Skywalker. Luke had no way of knowing if any of the others had communed with the Force in this way. All he knew was this: either the woman had a very different idea of what constituted singing or the Force just didn’t sing for him.

It wanted to maybe. It might even have tried a time or two, long ago.

The door slid open, pulling Luke from the viscous, heady pool of Force energy he’d submerged himself beneath, like an arm dragging him free from bacta or quicksand or a dank, muddy hole in the ground.

Luke drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes.

“Oh, I—” It was Biggs, of course. No one else could’ve gotten in without his express permission and certainly not now in any case. It would’ve required an emergency message from Needa for anyone else to have gotten anywhere near where Biggs was standing. “I didn’t know you were… preoccupied.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he strode from the middle of the floor toward the chair. Across the back of it hung his undershirt and tunic, each folded into a neat little rectangle. “That’s okay,” he said, dragging the thin, supple fabric over his head and tucking it into the waistband of his trousers. “I was almost done anyway.” A small deceit, but a harmless one. “What did you need?”

Nothing, Luke hoped. And not because Luke had been busy, but simply because—because he liked the idea of Biggs coming to him with no other purpose than to see him.

Biggs didn’t answer immediately. His eyebrows were drawn together in a strange way though and his mouth was twisted and as Luke pulled his tunic on, snapping and zipping and tugging it into place, he wondered what in the hell—

“Captain Needa’s splicers have finally reconstructed the information you brought back from Yavin,” he said, brusque and professional. “We, uh, have the names of over one-hundred systems the rebels have at one time or another considered using as bases of operation.”

“Protection through obscurity,” Luke said, scraping his thumbnail over his eyebrow. “Have Needa’s analysts cut that list down to only viable options.”

The grimace Biggs tried to hide was more than answer enough. His verbal response merely confirmed it. “Those are the viable options,” he said gingerly, apologetic, “my lord.”

Exhaling sharply, Luke turned and crossed his arms. As he paced the floor, his bare feet were silent against the tight, uniform weave of the utilitarian carpet beneath them. Biggs’s answer didn’t anger him, though the way he answered did. Biggs used the same tactic some of the more easily frightened of the Emperor’s followers did though it had always served them ill. Sniveling and scraping the floor never saved them from his father’s wrath. Nor from the Emperor’s demands. It didn’t save them no matter how sorry they were to bear the bad news themselves. Luke was not his father. He wasn’t the Emperor. He wasn’t threatened by delays and setbacks. Biggs had no reason to approach him with such patronizing care in the hopes of defusing the mere possibility of an angry response.

“I didn’t realize I’d promoted a spineless sycophant, Commander,” he said, cold. No, not cold. Devoid of inflection. “Did you really think you could soften the delivery of a bit of bad news with a pretty form of address?”

“Excuse me?” And that, that was better, that disgruntled note of disbelief that entered Biggs’s voice.

Why Luke wanted to provoke him, he couldn’t say, except perhaps the interruption had been a little more inconvenient than Luke cared to admit to. The Force needled at the back of his mind, demanding almost, his and its expectations thwarted by Biggs’s interruption. And in a fight between pure power and Biggs—Biggs had clearly won.

And the Force didn’t like it. Even if it did originally bring the two of them together. It spit and hissed where only Luke could discern it, Biggs blissfully unaware of the maelstrom he’d walked into.

Luke found he didn’t mind it much one way or the other what the Force felt about it.

And maybe that was the problem.

“Just—” An ache radiated across his upper back, tension gathering in his shoulders. “—if the analysts have to get creative to narrow down that list, they will get creative. If they have to think like rebels to give me a usable starting point, they will. And if I have to personally oversee every last one of them through the process, they will not like it, but I will happily do it. Understood?”

“Yes,” Biggs said, voice too chilled and hot at once, brittle and molten both, like his mouth had a different agenda than the rest of him. “Do you have any other orders you’d like me to relay?”

“No.”

Though Luke didn’t look at him, he listened—listened for him to leave, for him to say something, for him to _do_ anything. But it was a long moment before he heard the sound of Biggs’s boots retreating or the pneumatic hiss of the door closing behind him.

**XIV**

Luke’s comm trilled as he final phase of one of the third form exercises he’d taken to learning in his spare time. A dozen training droids, programmed by him personally, hovered and darted through the air, emitting blaster fire at random intervals, hitting everything but the target with a stinging, harmless burst of energy. He deflected the last of the bolts, noticing the sound for the first time though he’d been aware of it for—a good minute.

Whoever was on the other end was persistent, Luke could give them that.

And for their trouble, he ambled, slower than necessary, toward the side of the room he’d commandeered for this particular workout. It was, he thought, the least he could do.

“Skywalker,” he said, curt, avoiding breathing against the speaker so the person on the other end couldn’t hear how winded he was. It wouldn’t matter that he’d been at this non-stop for three hours. All they would know was _Luke Skywalker is human, he gets as tired as the rest of us._

That would not do.

“Sir,” the voice said, unrecognizable and shaky, belonging apparently to one of the faceless many the Empire employed to do the dirty work of facilitating comm traffic, “priority call for you.”

“From whom?”

“L-lord Vader,” they answered. “Sir.”

Sweat trickled down Luke’s face and into his eyes, down the back of his neck. Laughing, he scrounged around in his pack for a towel. “How long has he been waiting?” he asked, though he already knew the answer: too long for _Lord_ Vader’s tastes.

“Hardly any time at all.”

 _Uh huh_. “Tell him it’ll be another minute. I have to get back to my quarters.”

Luke could almost feel the despair coming off the unfortunate officer who’d pulled this particular bad hand. __

“Do we have a problem?” Luke asked, innocent.

“No, sir.”

“Good.” The only thing that wasn’t optimal about it was the fact that he wouldn’t get to hear what his father had to say when the officer relayed the message to him. How amusing would that have been? “Thank you.”

*

“Father,” Luke said, perfectly deferential, bowing to the minuscule projection before him. Often, he found his father’s presentation distracting, but the smallness of the image merely undermined his image. There were, Luke thought, many other masks Vader could have worn that would have been more effective.

Against Luke, at least. Most people were appropriately frightened of Darth Vader’s… accoutrements.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Luke added, ignoring as best he could the tightness of his skin in the wake of the sweat drying on it.

“Your progress with the rebels has been unsatisfactory,” Vader answered, his displeasure clear. “The Emperor is displeased.”

“It’s nice to hear from you, too, father. Thank you for noticing,” Luke answered, his own mask firmly in place. “I was beginning to think Imperial Center has completely forgotten I was out here.”

Luke sometimes liked to imagine the expressions his father might make knowing no one could see them and hoped it was dismay settling on his face now. _What would that even look like,_ he wondered.

Vader said nothing.

“Please convey my regards to the Emperor as well,” Luke continued. “It’s been too long since I’ve been graced with his presence.” He smiled, placid, and thought, _not long enough_.

“Your good humor will serve you well,” Vader replied finally, “when you’re sent even further from the Emperor’s court for your failures.”

 _I haven’t failed yet_. “So this _was_ supposed to be a punishment. Or did you simply not want to do the dirty work yourself?” _What did I do wrong this time? Was it Zzale? I bet it was Zzale. This has Krennic’s fingerprints all over it_.

“I have my own concerns at the moment.”

 _Yeah, gathering a droid army is definitely cause for concern. I wonder if the Emperor is aware of_ that. “How is Aphra anyway?”

“Aphra is doing her job,” Vader said, “unlike you. Perhaps you might take her as an example to which you can aspire.”

“Do you talk to Leia like this?” Luke asked, jocular, releasing his annoyance to the Force. Considering the racket she’d built up for herself and that Corellian of hers out in the Outer Rim, Luke would have thought someone might be concerned about _her_ job.

“You are far less amusing than you believe yourself to be, my son. I would caution you to curb that impulse.”

 _And I would caution you on how complacent you’ve become, droid army or no_. “I will take your wisdom under advisement, father, as always.” His words were a peace offering at best, as Luke intended nothing of the sort, but if they mollified Vader, it was worth saying as much.

And Vader was always mollified when others showed deference to him, a trait Luke found deplorable, if useful, in situations such as these. The only thing that could be said for his father was mollifying him didn’t always mean you were safe. Well, it didn’t mean you were safe if you weren’t Luke Skywalker. Luke’s armor was one he shared with only one other person and he was willing to abuse it in this case.

“Is that all?” Luke asked, prodding the conversation along as gently as he could manage.

“For the time being,” Vader said, begrudging. “Find that rebel base. The Emperor will not be put off for long.”

 _He never is, not unless you’re clawing your way across every floor of the Death Star for the chance at another rank square, apparently_.

“Yes, father.”

The holoprojector cut out with a flicker, the unit humming briefly as it shut down. Brushing his hand through his hair, Luke sighed and frowned and figured Vader couldn’t begrudge him a run through the sonics before getting back to the so very important work of flushing out the traitors and liars who threatened the Emperor’s power.

**XV**

Needa’s head analyst, a young woman by the name of Sitcha, dark, curly hair pulled back into a severe bun, scrawled a number on a slip of flimsy and slid it across the table to him. She didn’t seem particularly intimidated by him, her professionalism firmly in place, and for that he didn’t immediately chew her out for her answer as he read it.

“This is better, but it’s still not good enough, Lieutenant,” he said, regretful, tossing the flimsy down the length of the table, the thing coming to rest near the edge.

“I know, sir,” she replied, crisp, eyes following the flimsy’s movement. “This is the best we could do on short notice. Even the jump traces Captain Needa did have been unhelpful. They scattered and in no discernable pattern. May I… speak freely?”

“Yes, of course.”

“This ship isn’t crewed by the sort of people you need for this work. Even the ship’s algorithms aren’t offering much in the way of help,” she said, glancing at the closed door of the small conference room he’d pulled her into for this meeting. “We’re doing what we can, but most of us weren’t trained for it and I can’t say that doesn’t show here. I’m sorry, my lord.”

Luke nodded. “I appreciate your candor. What does your intuition tell you?”

“Sir?” She straightened up and peered at him.

“Your intuition,” Luke repeated. “You must have some suspicions about where the rebels might be.” Stretching, he switched on the holoprojector inset in the center of the table, a map of the galaxy blazing to life. “What do you think?”

“I… don’t know, sir. I hadn’t thought about it.” She narrowed her eyes, scanning the map, the corner of her mouth drawing inward as she bit the inside of her lip. “They could be anywhere.”

“No, not anywhere.” Luke pushed himself to his feet, braced himself against the table, and leaned in. “They have limited resources and not enough people to move those resources. They can’t travel the major hyperlanes and many of their ships are short-range. If you were on Yavin Four and those were your parameters, where would you go?”

“It tells me I should be heading into Hutt space and hope I don’t lose more than a few credits for the trouble while I find a place to lay low.”

“No good.”

Understanding dawned on her face. “Lady Skywalker has dealings with the Hutts, that’s right,” she said. “But do the rebels know?”

“Who doesn’t at this point?”

Sitcha conceded with a tilt of her head. “Okay, so further afield.”

Luke smiled, encouraging. Or attempting to be. Whether it worked or not was entirely on Sitcha.

“So, maybe the Javin sector?” She shrugged and frowned, clearly frustrated. “But you’ve got major trade corridors throughout that might deter them. Would they go as far as the Unknown Regions? Could they make it?”

“Not in one go, I shouldn’t think.”

“Would they risk it?”

“I’m asking you.”

Features growing even more serious, more studious, she scanned the map, focusing almost entirely on the lower quadrants. “What about here?” She pointed at a small cluster of planets.

Luke rounded the table, eyes following the line of her fingertips. “Bespin?”

“No.” Tapping on system she meant, she drew up what surveys they had and then selected the only one that could reasonably sustain life on its surface. It looked, at a glance, like a frozen hellhole. No one in their right mind would choose to build a base there. Which, in theory, meant that was exactly the place you’d want to set down on. “Hoth. Hoth was one of the planets we couldn’t scratch off yet.”

“It’s too obvious.” But the more he thought about it… “Put it on the list—the _revised_ list. Have a comms officer contact a ship in that area and tell them to launch a probe droid for me, set to hibernation mode until it senses starship activity in the atmosphere.” He glanced up, sensing… “Keep at it. Get your people doing the same. Your algorithms and your droids have done what they could. It’s on you now.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned toward him. “Thank you, sir. When Commander Darklighter reported your orders, I thought…”

 _I know what you thought_. “You did well enough with the stick, Lieutenant Sitcha,” he replied, stepping past her, preoccupied still by the maelstrom of energy he felt outside the room. Clapping her on the shoulder in farewell, he added, “Let’s see what you do with the carrot.”

He hardly waited until the door was open to speak again. Not to Sitcha, but to the cause of the disgruntled ripples Luke couldn’t quite block from his awareness.

“Darklighter.” Biggs, who had been leaning against the wall opposite, arms and ankles crossed, jerked to a more militarily precise posture at the sharp summons. “With me.”

“Sir?”

A handful of Sitcha’s team peeked up from their consoles, surreptitious as they gleaned every hint of salacious detail they could from his interaction with Biggs. Would it not have served equally well as grist for the rampant gossip mill aboard the ship, he’d have berated them. He didn’t relish a repeat of what happened with Zzale, but if it became necessary…

Preceding Biggs into the hallway, he didn’t bother waiting for Biggs to follow, knowing he’d be right behind him. What he intended to say, why he’d asked for Biggs to tag along, he couldn’t even begin to articulate. He wanted everything and nothing, wanted Biggs here and gone, wanted to apologize and demand an apology. All at once.

“My lord?” Biggs asked, an impatient edge to his voice.

Striding past a closed door, Luke turned sharply on his heels and keyed the master override. Waving Biggs in, he followed behind him, glancing both ways down the hall to ensure no one had seen them come in. “Do you even realize how infuriating you are?” he snapped, barely thinking to look around to establish they hadn’t just barged into someone’s office. Luckily, a brief glance around the room proved it was a storage room at best and, if the dust was any indication, a fairly well-abandoned one at that. That, too, hadn’t been what he meant to say.

“Not generally, no,” Biggs said, lifting his hands in a supplicating gesture, his impatience burying itself somewhere Luke couldn’t get at. “But I’m getting a pretty good idea that’s probably the case right now.”

The laugh Luke gave was bitter, hitched and little broken with disbelief. “You’re… just. Have you ever considered using my name?” He hadn’t intended to blurt that question out and he regretted saying the words immediately, but he couldn’t bring himself to take them back now that they were out, wouldn’t gather the Force to him and gently suggest that _Biggs forget all about what he just said_.

Biggs’s forehead wrinkled as he pondered the question, mouth falling open as he was momentarily struck dumb. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

Confusion, helpless and impotent, radiated from him in waves, so noticeable in the Force that Luke almost felt confused and helpless in turn. “I hate to break it to you,” he said finally, speaking slowly, “but you’re the third most powerful person in the Empire. There’s no—” He flushed, anger replacing the confusion, and swiped at his mouth. For the briefest of instances, Luke saw his own face, his own _body_ , flicker through Biggs’s awareness. Not as he was dressed now, no, but when he’d caught Luke stripped to the waist while he was meditating. If Luke hadn’t been so focused on Biggs, he might not have been able to read it. And why Biggs thought about that now was something Luke had no good answer for. “That’s not something I can do.”

“I wasn’t aware the ‘third most powerful person in the Empire’ was beholden to his titles.” Really, as flattering as Luke found it that Biggs believed he was that powerful—he was fourth in line at best, behind his father, of course, and Leia, who had long ago scratched out a fiefdom and the independence to pursue it; and some days, when one of the Emperor’s Moffs or Grand Admirals performed with particular ingenuity or skill, rare, but not impossible, even that level of influence suspect—but at that moment, he would’ve traded all of it for a demotion if it meant getting Biggs to call him by his first name. Not sir. Not Lord Skywalker. And certainly not _my lord_.

Biggs shrugged, his usual verve and audacity nowhere in evidence. Why this was the line he drew, Luke couldn’t guess. Perhaps it was merely his training getting in the way. Or maybe he just didn’t particularly want to be that familiar with Luke. “I didn’t mean—” Mussing his hair, Biggs groaned. “You can do whatever the hell you want. The rest of us aren’t so lucky.”

Luke’s brow arched. That was true, he supposed, but it wasn’t true, too. Somehow he didn’t think Biggs would appreciate the distinction right now. “What if I asked you to?”

Biggs’s eyes widened and the stumped look on his face merely grew, consternation joining every other emotion playing across his features. Keeping him off-balance meant Luke didn’t have to deal with him asking harder questions or suggesting that anything was impossible. “I… suppose there are harder things you could ask me to do.” His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared slightly as though he were trying to scent out a lie. “Do you _want_ me to call you by your name?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I guess I can…” Waggling his thumb over his shoulder, Biggs said, “Not out there though, right? People already think…”

 _I don’t actually care_. “What do they think?”

“Well,” he answered, grabbing hold of the loops on his ever-present flight suit. “That you, uh…” His face grew pink. “C’mon. I don’t have to spell it out for you, do I?”

So many people have thought so many things about Luke Skywalker over the years that he almost did ask Biggs to spell it out. He could conjure up a thousand different tales, each more salacious than the last without confirmation of the truth. But Luke wasn’t an idiot generally and could well guess enough from the implication to know exactly what Biggs meant.

Perhaps he had been too lenient with the _Avenger’s_ crew. Too complacent. He _had_ always found it much easier to let others go about their business until they proved themselves incapable of staying in line.

“Whoa, hey,” Biggs added, taking a step forward, his hands raised to ward off whatever it was he saw on Luke’s face. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, it doesn’t _bother_ me. Everyone talks about how the brass’ll play favorites. I just—thought you should know. In case you don’t want to be associated with that.”

Rage sparked through Luke’s chest, sizzled down his limbs, tangled in his gut, buzzing. With nowhere to go, it threatened to singe him, but he found he didn’t much care. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t care one way or the other, isn’t it? Have they said anything to you?”

Biggs shook his head. “Everyone’s been perfectly respectful to me.”

Luke sensed the truth in that at least and felt the grip of his anger loosening just that little bit. He could breathe again, strangulation no longer a threat. He knew well the dangers of letting his anger outrun his common sense. Better to collar it before it collared you. His father, he thought, still hadn’t learned that lesson. One day, it would probably be his downfall.

But Luke didn’t intend to follow that path.

He thought, briefly, about the tight confines the man had locked himself into, a cage far more physical than anything Luke had to contend with. That was enough to disperse the rest of it.

“I definitely can’t complain.” Biggs wrapped the fingers of one hand around the wrist of the other and twisted them slightly. “And I wouldn’t anyway. You gave me a shot at my own squad long before I could’ve gotten one on my own. I haven’t forgotten that.”

“I didn’t do that for your gratitude,” Luke replied, appeased anyway. “I didn’t give you anything you didn’t deserve. I didn’t _give_ you anything at all.” He might have thought so at first. He wasn’t without his flaws after all. Hubris could strike at the heart of any man and Luke was no exception.

And he was paying for it, had paid for it for quite some time. Biggs… Biggs shouldn’t have had to pay for it, too.

“Maybe,” Biggs conceded, somehow sounding nowhere near as conceited as the implication might have made him out to be. Certainly others would have been annoyed at even the admission that Biggs might have believed himself more worthy of a leadership role than they were. “Doesn’t mean I would’ve gotten it without you and I’m willing to recognize it whether it was your intent or not. My mother and father didn’t raise an ungrateful son.”

“Clearly,” Luke said, dry. He hadn’t intended this conversation to lead to Biggs’s parents and didn’t feel particularly comfortable in hearing Biggs invoke them. They’d gifted him with a good life, an honorable life, and Luke had, in some ways, circumvented that. Biggs could’ve done his time in the Outer Rim, retired or climbed the ranks as he saw fit, unencumbered by the complications Luke brought along no matter where he went. “What would you do if Luke Skywalker was just some nobody you struck up a conversation with one day?”

Biggs grinned, the skin around his eyes crinkling, giving him such a warm, inviting quality that Luke could scarcely think beyond wanting—

“Buy him a beer probably,” Biggs answered, daring to clap Luke on the shoulder, only somewhat misconstruing what Luke was really asking. Luke couldn’t tell whether it was on purpose or not and he couldn’t bring himself to ask or pry or confirm one way or the other. “Ask him where he got his name.”

“My name? Why?”

“Names mean something, right? Back home they say names can predict the future.” He wiggled his fingers. “I’d’ve bet the name Skywalker promised all sorts of interesting stories.”

Struck by the whimsy of such a notion, Luke fought back a smile. “I only know it’s the name my father gave me.”

“Guess he’s got the gift of prophecy then, hasn’t he?”

“The Force is with him,” Luke said, dubious. “I don’t know about prophecy.”

“Could be.” Biggs’s grinned stretched even wider. “But it’s fun to think about, huh? And now that I’ve offered that hypothetical Luke Skywalker a beer, how about I do the same for the real deal?” He scanned Luke’s face again briefly and nodded in confirmation of whatever he was looking for. “Luke.”

That was better; that was _right_. “There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Biggs laughed, jerking his head toward the door. “Whatever you say, Skywalker. Just don’t get too mad at me if I slip up.”

“I won’t,” Luke said, taking the initiative Biggs wasn’t quite willing to take for himself, willing himself not to wish he _had_ been that nobody who happened to share his name. Someone Biggs could easily behave however he’d like with. _One step at a time_ , he thought.

It wasn’t what he wanted, but if it was what he could get, he’d take it.

**XVI**

“Vader, Jr.,” Aphra said, a blinding smile on her mouth as she said it. Then the transmission rattled slightly on her end, the image going fuzzy and Luke ended up with a better view of her feet than her face, her ankles crossed, heels kicked up against the holoprojector itself. “To what do I owe this most dubious of pleasures?”

Luke absolutely didn’t feel the urge to adopt a similar pose on his end even though the desk he was sitting at was the perfect height for it. “Does my father know you call me that?” he asked, settling for crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair.

“Nope. And I’m not planning on telling him either. Are you?”

“It can be our secret,” Luke said, affecting a false sense of generosity. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll get right—”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” she replied, equally false, though of a more amused sort. It was a polite fiction they shared, he and Aphra. He pretended he didn’t know she was busy scrounging for droids for his father and sometimes it slipped her mind that some of the information she gathered for Vader made it to Luke’s ears, too. “That I was busy?”

Focusing on Aphra’s boots, he said, “You’re right. How ridiculous of me.”

“Mmm. So what can I do for you? Since I’m not busy and all?”

“I was hoping you had something for me.”

Biting at her fingernail and adjusting the cap she always wore, she said, “Such as?”

“Come now, Aphra. I thought we had an agreement.”

“We do.” Her feet suddenly dropped to the floor, jostling the transmission for a second time. “I’m just not sure you want to know and I don’t want to be the one to tell you if that’s the case. That seems like a job for Lord Vader. I’ve never been a very good bearer of a certain sort of news. Depending on your point of view, that is.”

“That big?” _And why mention my father being the one to tell me? Does he know? Does he want me to know?_

Maybe. It was possible. Strange, but he’d experienced stranger in his life.

She nodded, spreading her arms apart in illustration. “Death Star big.”

 _Hell_. “That’s… pretty big.”

“Yup.” Sucking on her teeth, she leaned forward, face up close to the camera again. “Don’t get lost in the woods, understand?” Her head tilted a little quirkily, the light glinting off her goggles and forming a pinprick of bright white on Luke’s end. “See ya, Skywalker.”

Aphra’s image tightened into a band of blue light that seemed to fold neatly back into the holoprojector. In its absence, the room seemed darker. Though it was entirely possible that was just Luke’s mood overshadowing everything. The lights within the room hadn’t dimmed after all.

Aphra had found something Death Star big. And Luke knew that both Krennic and Tarkin had wanted the first one to become a second, a third, as many as it took to secure domination over the galaxy. But Luke had also believed that the Emperor would see through their schemes finally. Why destroy Legacy worlds, tank the economies of whole sectors, disappear whole industries’ worth of scientists into the project and stalling advances elsewhere for an unnecessary repeat?

But if Aphra was right—and she usually was—it stood to reason…

The Emperor must have okayed the construction of a second one. Possibly even before the completion of the first. He wouldn’t know until he got a hold of hard intelligence, maybe the plans if he was lucky.

Luke should never have pointed out the flaw in the original design. He’d thought… well, whatever he’d thought, it was wrong.

And now he had to do something more than flush rebels out of their holes in the name of galactic security. It seemed there was now a bigger threat to that than a ragtag bunch of insurgents could ever hope to become. Luke might not have been a good man, but he was a pragmatic one and far more realistic than most of the people the Emperor surrounded himself with.

“Thank you, Aphra,” he said, quiet, subdued, even though she couldn’t hear him.

She’d helped him find his purpose here. That was worth something.

How he’d see it completed… that was another thing entirely.

**XVII**

“Lieutenant Sitcha, do you have access to any Rebellion frequencies? Codes? Anything? Unblown, if possible, but none that they’ve abandoned completely or know have been snagged by Imperials.”

“I can look for you, sir,” she replied.

“Thank you.”

“Leading the rebels into a trap?” she asked, interest piqued.

“I hope so, Lieutenant,” he said, as bland as possible. For whatever reason, that always seemed to confirm people’s suspicions for him. Better than using the lie to put on a show, that was for sure. “And if you can’t find anything suitable, come back to me. I’ll handle it. Don’t go to anyone else for help. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I appreciate your discretion.”

He was sometimes startled at how easily he could lead the Emperor’s best and brightest astray, but he couldn’t deny it would work in his favor here if she got him what he wanted.

**XVIII**

He might not have been able to get the plans himself, not without drawing too much attention to what he was doing.

But he _could_ lead the rebels down the right path.

And if not, well, there was always the Bothans. Not the most elegant of solutions, but they’d been playing both sides long enough that it wouldn’t seem all that suspect were he to approach them through a proxy. And whatever else they were, they were _good_ at what they did. And the rebels knew it, too.

**XIX**

_Don’t get lost in the woods, understand?_

Perhaps the rebels would find what they sought on a forested world?

**XX**

“Would you care to join me for dinner?” Luke asked as soon as the door to Biggs’s quarters opened. Biggs was dressed down, a rather unusual sight. When Biggs wasn’t in his uniform he was in his flight suit and vice versa. In fact, Luke had all but forgotten Biggs must’ve owned his own clothes altogether. Considering how well they fit him, the shirt soft and snug, tucked into dark trousers that were also well-tailored to say the least, Luke wondered why he didn’t wear them more often.

Biggs glanced at the chronometer, mouth tugging both down and up as though he wasn’t sure whether to frown or smile. “Yeah,” he said vaguely, “that sounds great.”

Luke’s gaze flicked up and down, taking in the whole of Biggs. “Unless you have other plans?”

“No.” The smile he plastered on his face looked manufactured, but Luke didn’t dare pry for more, didn’t want to know what it meant. It was a cowardly move, perhaps, but Biggs had already said yes. Whatever else was going on, it didn’t matter as much as that fact. “Dinner would be nice.”

“Are you ready? Do you need time or…?”

“Now’s good.” His fingers brushed at his shirt and settled on his hips, hands slipping into his pockets. “Here?”

“My quarters,” Luke answered, almost regretting having asked at all, a sense of urgency and awareness sweeping him up and leaving him more than a little confounded. It was like he was being confronted with a side of Biggs he’d never seen before except for how that was completely ridiculous. There wasn’t anything _new_ about the Biggs that stood before him. It just…

Felt different.

“Lead the way.” The way Biggs said it, he sounded normal. Just the way Luke would have expected from the start. And though it should have put Luke at ease, Luke only felt more prickly, more concerned as they walked the corridors leading from Biggs’s quarters to his.

“If you’d rather we didn’t—” Luke said, standing outside his own door, lifting his thumb to enter his code as well as let his fingerprint get scanned.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” Biggs insisted. His hand clamped down on Luke’s shoulder, pushing him forward a little playfully. But though Luke enjoyed the touch, relished it even, he didn’t let himself be fooled by it.

 _There’s nothing to be fooled by_ , a part of him said, the part of him that wanted to trust—

Luke’s personal comlink pinged just as the door opened and Luke quietly ushered Biggs inside before answering. Of course, _of course_ he’d be interrupted now. It had been a very long time since Luke had shared anything approaching time alone with Biggs—both of them were busy, Biggs training Gray Squadron and going on short-range missions meant to confuse the rebels and maybe lead them into a small-scale skirmish or two, Luke ensuring the rebels followed the trail he’d begun to set up thanks to Lieutenant Sitcha’s database of Rebellion intelligence.

“Skywalker,” he said, rolling his eyes and waving pathetically at the table where plates and a covered platter were already set up and waiting. Biggs wandered toward the table and poked at the silverware, the plates, that covered platter while Luke stood just inside the door, eager to hurry this conversation along.

“My lord,” Sitcha said, as professional as ever, “the _Accuser_ reports the probe on Hoth is picking up atmospheric activity.”

Biggs’s head snapped up and he lost all interest in what he was doing. “Hoth?” he mouthed, tilting his head in thought. His hands flexed at his sides and his attention drifted briefly to Luke’s private console.

“How long has it been there?”

“Ten weeks, sir,” she replied instantly. Ten weeks. So much has happened since then. Hoth had faded to the back of his mind, a situation that no longer needed defusing in the face of greater challenges.

“Thank you. Is that all?”

“No, sir. Captain Piett is awaiting orders.”

Piett. Piett. A rising star in the Imperial Navy. From an Outer Rim world if Luke remembered correctly. Fairly reasonable as far as ambitiously minded career military officers often were. “Permission is granted to Captain Piett to handle the rebels as he sees fit. If he needs anything, he’s to use authorization code Delta-Three-Beta-Seven-Seven. That ought to get him whatever he might want.” And if he hanged himself with the length of rope Luke had offered to him, so be it. “Tell him I don’t expect to hear word of his failure and that I appreciate his assistance in this matter.”

“Yes, sir.”

Luke pocketed his comlink and strode toward the table.

“Is this one of those things I pretend I didn’t hear?”

“Biggs, are you accusing me of duplicity?” he asked, plucking the cover from the platter. Fragrant steam billowed out from beneath. Good. All still seemed well there, bed of wild grains and roasted _nel_ meat accounted for.

“No, but I do suppose I’m asking you if I should be.”

Luke sampled a chunk of the spiced _koyo_ melon he’d chosen for dessert. The sweetness of the melon perfectly balanced the harsher bite of the _paprapepper_. Just the way he liked it. “No,” Luke answered, coming around to Biggs’s side of the table and pulling the chair for him, slapping his hand against the backrest in invitation. “Captain Needa is fully aware of my interest in Hoth. You needn’t hide anything you feel uncomfortable keeping secret. In fact, I’ll brief him myself as soon as we’re done here.”

“You don’t think he’ll be unhappy you let Piett do his job for him?”

“If Needa was the only person responsible for hunting rebels, they’d have overrun the galaxy by now. This is a group effort. Needa will understand or he’ll find himself captaining a much less important ship.” Reaching for the spoon he’d set beside the platter earlier, he scooped up some of the rice and shredded meat, motioning with his shoulder that Biggs should pick up his plate. “If he’s lucky.”

“If he’s lucky,” Biggs repeated, quiet, looking down at his food though he hadn’t yet picked up a utensil to eat it. “You’re very generous with your people.”

“I don’t see it that way,” Luke replied, filling his own plate. “I’ve just staked my bet on the belief that my methods are equally as effective as my father’s or the Emperor’s. Generosity has less to do with it than pragmatism.”

“Is that what this is? Pragmatism?”

“This? You mean dinner. You mean _you_.”

“Sure. That’s what I mean.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed in thought. He could see the vague shape of what Biggs was getting at, but at the same time, he very much sensed he’d found himself a minefield to traverse.

Good thing he had always liked minefields.

“If it is pragmatism, it’s the least efficient form of it I’ve ever seen,” Luke said. His elbows thunked against the table, sending his knife sliding down his plate an inch or so. The sound of it was disproportionately loud to Luke’s ears. “No, Biggs, it’s not pragmatism. Sometimes I do things just for the hell of it. Because I _want_ to.”

“You never do anything for the hell of it with anyone else,” Biggs pointed out.

“Then that tells you something, doesn’t it?” Luke scooted the knife around the plate with his index finger, finally picking it and his fork back up. Let Biggs read what he wanted to into that. Luke was tired of this… this standoff of theirs. Whatever it could be classed as.

Nothing in Luke’s vocabulary could account for it. It wasn’t love, not in any way he understood love to be. Love was possessive above all things, jealous, competitive, demanding. And there were elements of that to it, Luke could admit. But more than that, Luke wanted to lay himself bare for Biggs’s perusal. Give him every opportunity to turn on him and delight in it when he didn’t. Loyalty maybe came closer to it. Fidelity. Absolute, unshakeable faith.

Those things… they were rarer than love. And so he valued them more.

He would give Biggs every last one of his secrets if Biggs asked for them. If Biggs even _hinted_ that he wanted them.

For a man in Luke’s position, that was probably a bad decision. But what was the point of being where he was if he wasn’t willing to lose it all for something more important?

Someone.

But, as had grown more and more common, Biggs did nothing, too busy pondering his hands to push for anything more. And Luke was incapable of doing anything but follow Biggs’s lead, another thing that has grown more common as time had passed.

**XXI**

“Field reports coming in from the Hoth system, sir,” Sitcha said, handing over a flimsy. If Luke didn’t know any better, he’d have suspected her of being Force sensitive.

“Tell me.”

“The _Accuser_ has been defeated, my lord,” she said, relaying the information in a crisp monotone. “Captain Piett and most of the crew are unaccounted for and likely dead. The _Entor_ was nearby and picked up the distress call. They’ve sent a recovery crew over to gauge damage and obtain any recordings of the battle they can find. They’re reporting mass Imperial casualties in the meantime. And, sir?

“The rebels have escaped.”

Squinting, Luke nodded. “Unfortunate,” he said finally. Every last analyst in the room waited on tenterhooks to hear his reaction, some flinching preemptively. He really wished they wouldn’t do that. “Do we have any idea where they went?”

“No, sir.”

It was just as well, but he allowed a flash of annoyance to cross his face anyway. It was, after all, what the others expected of him. “Keep at it, Lieutenant,” he said, voice tight. “And tell the _Enton_ to get on tracking where the rebels might have gone. They’ve just inherited Piett’s responsibilities.”

**XXII**

There weren’t a lot of calls Luke wouldn’t have been alerted to prior to them coming through, but there was one person for whom that particular sort of disruption applied. So when his holoprojector blared to life without his consent, he knew who it was.

He sighed, uncrossed his legs, and rose from the plush chair he kept in the corner of his room farthest from his desk. His pad bounced on the cushion when he tossed it there, settling into the space between it and the armrest.

The pale, shimmering outline of the Emperor’s hooded robe filled the area above his desk. It wasn’t terribly impressive to tell the truth. Then again, when you were used to the larger than life projections the Emperor favored, anything closer to reality was bound to disappoint. “Emperor,” Luke said, bowing deeply. He kicked at his chair, nudging it aside with his ankle so he could get down on bended knee, hating it all the while. “How might I serve you?”

He looked up into the projection’s eyes, then directly into the camera, and finally back down to the floor as he waited for permission to rise. When the Emperor didn’t answer immediately, resentment bubbled within Luke, a heady mixture of anger and impatience that made him want to lash out. Knowing that that was likely exactly what the Emperor wanted only dulled the impulse. It didn’t eradicate it entirely.

“Rise, young one,” the Emperor finally said. Luke’s skin crawled at the almost fatherly way he spoke, a shiver going up his spine. No matter where in the universe the Emperor found himself, he had this effect on Luke. But instead of cowing him or softening him to the Emperor, it only made him angrier.

Luke did as he was told anyway.

“You seem to have had some trouble,” the Emperor said once was fully standing, his voice already hoarse, like he had been talking for hours, days even, without rest. Luke knew the truth though and it was this: the Emperor was weak in ways even he didn’t want to confront.

“Nothing I haven’t taken into account already, Emperor.” Luke inclined his head, his bangs obscuring the Emperor’s image briefly. “I can assure you the rebels have responded exactly as I’ve predicted at every turn—”

“You have allowed them to escape twice over now. This is your hubris talking, Lord Skywalker. Nothing more.”

 _And what of your hubris?_ Adopting a more humble tone than he was used to, he said, “I understand how it might seem so, but your faith in me has never been misplaced before.”

“Your impulsiveness is leading you down a dangerous path. You share that trait with your father.”

 _Funny you should say that_. “If you don’t believe I—”

“I believe you will be better suited returning to the Imperial Court.” The Emperor’s eyes glinted as he looked down, sharp as the edge of a knife. His hand rose in the frame, curling through the air almost delicately. “You can order your pieces about the board from here just as easily as you can from the _Avenger_. Perhaps it will even be more convenient. You’ll have every resource available to you.”

Luke’s heart sunk, unease circling around the pit of his stomach. How was he supposed to do this with the Emperor underfoot? It would slow down his plans to say nothing of the possibility of him having to abandon them anyway and hope that when the time came, he’d know it and be in a position to do something with it.

He couldn’t ignore a direct order from the Emperor. That would sink him faster than anything else he could do. “Then I will return as quickly as my squadron can be made ready.” He bowed again, the motion as foreign to him as this deference. It had always been this way though. And likely would remain so.

“See that you do,” the Emperor said, immediately ending the transmission, much to Luke’s relief.

“Well,” Luke said to himself, his fingers brushing at his chin and scratching along his jawline, his mind forming a perfect blank for the first time since he was a much younger, much less experienced version of himself. “Shit.”

**XXIII**

“You ever wonder what it would be like if circumstances were different?” Biggs asked, switching from the public channel that anyone could access to a private one, the only direct link between Gray Two and Gray Leader, more secure even than talking face-to-face.

Luke peered out of the viewport of his own ship and easily identified Biggs’s TIE, but the way it was situated, he couldn’t see inside. “I try not to think about the things that don’t happen,” Luke answered. “They’re better; they’re worse; or they’re the same. I have enough to juggle in this reality.” Frowning, he flicked a couple of switches on the console in front of him, monitors flickering to life under his touch. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.”

“How?”

For a moment, all Luke heard was the thick, plastic crack of buttons, dials, and levels being pulled on Biggs’s end. “I’ll let you know when we get back, yeah?” he said finally, almost casual.

“I’m holding you to that, Gray Two,” he said. “Switching back to public channels.”

“Yes, sir.”

**XXIV**

Stepping off of his ship, he turned and waited for his TIEs to bring themselves in, each of them deftly locating the tall stalks upon which their ships could perch. TIEs weren’t supposed to land anywhere except a ship’s hangar. Luke didn’t like that, not least of all because he didn’t _have_ a ship.

It might’ve been different if he did.

Each made the landing as perfectly as the person next to him, Biggs much the same except quicker and a little more confidently and the last to climb out. Like he wasn’t quite ready to part with his.

This time, he barely looked up when he stepped onto the landing pad, slipping through the flight crew rushing forward to drag the fighters off to the hangar with the assistance of maglevs, chains, and small towing carts.

Luke left them to it. The flight crew wouldn’t find anything when they could take back to the Emperor. And that was all Luke cared about when it came to that.

He had too much else to do.

“Commander Darklighter,” Luke said, motioning him forward as they strode through the hangar toward the palace proper.

“Yes, _sir_?” Biggs answered, jogging to catch up, taking special delight in the sir, turning it from a mark of difference between them into a secret they just so happened to share. _But not out there, right…_

It made something he hated into a sign of something new, something a little dangerous, something _exciting_.

Luke thought maybe Biggs felt it, too, and relished it even if he didn’t want anything else. It was the only explanation Luke had for why he said it in that particular manner. If only Biggs knew the effect he had on Luke…

What would he _do_ with that kind of information?

The other pilots split off toward the ready room set aside for them by the palace’s flight coordinators, leaving Biggs and Luke standing just outside. Only a few feet separated them, but being back… it felt like Luke needed to be more careful. And he needed Biggs to know that _he_ needed to be more careful, too.

When thought of like that, Captain Needa’s ship hadn’t been so bad. And Luke genuinely missed the assistance he’d received from Sitcha. “Are you ready for this?” Luke asked, rolling his shoulder vaguely toward the palace, a symbol of their return to their old lives. Luke hated symbols.

Funny. ‘Old’ wasn’t so long ago. A year now at most, not even that. But so much has changed…

“I can handle whatever gets thrown at me,” Biggs answered. “You know that.”

 _I know that I don’t want anything thrown at you at all_.

“Sir?”

Luke could get to liking the way Biggs said that if he kept it up. And maybe that was his plan all along. Perhaps he really didn’t want to call Luke by his name, but if he made ‘sir’ sound remotely palatable, he could have it both ways. Shaking his head, Luke frowned. _More important things now_. “Be cautious,” Luke said, wanting desperately to reach out and touch Biggs and wanting just as desperately to send Biggs as far away as he could. “Be smart.”

“Words to live by, huh?” Biggs said, laughing.

“Something like that.”

“It’ll be fine,” Biggs insisted, smiling in a way that made the galaxy seem okay for a moment, “between the two of us, nothing’ll get in your way.”

 _My way. Not our way._ “It can be your way, too. If you want it.”

He didn’t realize how it sounded until he spoke the words, but once they were out there, he didn’t take them back, instead letting them stand. _Your call_.

“Well, now,” Biggs said, grinning. “Isn’t that something?” He glanced around and leaned forward, wickedness curving his mouth into a shape Luke had never seen before—and wanted to see more of. “And what if I took you up on those pretty words of yours?”

Luke’s heart pounded against his sternum, his blood thudding in his ears. His mind blanked out for a moment, replaced with a pleasant buzz of anticipation. Perhaps it was fear that motivated Biggs—or daring. But either way…

Either way…

“I guess that would depend on you,” Luke said. No doubt they’d draw attention if they continued standing here speaking to one another. _So much for caution._ But a part of Luke didn’t care, would have willingly sacrificed everything for more time. That, luckily, was a part of Luke that he’d learned how to suppress a very long time ago. “See you after you brief the rest of Gray Squadron.”

“Sure.” Biggs’s eyes searched Luke’s face. “Sounds good to me.”

Luke took a few steps, slow and unsure, before stopping again, something he wasn’t quite as successful at suppressing grabbing hold of him. “What changed?” he asked, risking a few more moments for the one answer that mattered.

Biggs stepped back, pushing at the panel next to the ready room door. “Everything, hasn’t it?”

“I hope not,” Luke admitted. “I _hope_ everything is just as we left it.” _I_ hope _I’m worried for nothing._

Biggs dared to wink and Luke wasn’t at all sure whether he considered that a good thing or not. “Not everything surely.”

“Within reason then,” Luke amended, much to Biggs’s nodding amusement.

Biggs pointed at him. “I’ll find you after. Count on it.”

 _I will_. Biggs didn’t need to worry about _that_ in the slightest.

**XXV**

Luke paced his quarters, uneasy, the place both familiar to him now and unfamiliar both. It had, at one time, been the only home he’d known. Now he wondered what might have been done to it in his absence. Was the Emperor spying on him? Was someone else? Could he find out for sure? And how quickly?

He wished, briefly, foolishly, that there was someone other than Biggs he could trust, other than his sister, who had so thoroughly divorced herself from Imperial Center’s politicking that she wouldn’t have been able to help even if she wanted to. But though he might have longed for the stability of support, he also knew that everyone else was just as encumbered as he was.

The least he could do while Biggs was gone was stretch out with the Force, pick at every inconsistency he felt in it and disable it. And he did that, losing himself in the minutiae of his living arrangements for lack of anything better to do.

For a time, he felt nothing unusual, not a thing out of place, but he was determined and motivated, pushing his consciousness as deeply into the Force as he could allow it to go, sensing so much and so little at the same time. Energy danced in Imperial Center. It shimmered and coalesced and dispersed on a scale that was nearly impenetrable.

Except.

There.

He read a twinge that struck him as wrong, smudged with a dark signature that felt so much like the Emperor Luke almost pulled away, his heartbeat speeding up against his will. Whether it was a bug or some other form of technology Luke wasn’t familiar with, he couldn’t say, but though his mind skittered away from analyzing it too closely—perhaps a purposeful feature of it, perhaps not—he was still able to pinpoint the corner of the room in which it had been planted.

So Luke had been right and he needed to be careful.

 _Bad time to start doing whatever it is you’re doing with Biggs_ , he thought, knowing in his heart that that wouldn’t be enough to stop him. Not now. Not even with the Emperor breathing down his neck.

Heading toward the offending piece of equipment, he considered his options. The Emperor likely wouldn’t fault him for finding it and disabling it. But leaving it and proving himself to have nothing to hide—that would be valuable.

He sighed. There was no way he could let it stay there. Not now.

It was simply a matter of applying a Force-fed blast of energy to the center of that irritating smear of dark energy. Sensing the frying of electronics within the wall and the swift death of the bug, he felt satisfied that he was safe.

For the moment anyway.

How long he would remain so was a different question entirely. And one he couldn’t answer with anywhere close to a useful degree of certainty.

He needed to finish this.

Whatever it took, he would do it.

**XXVI**

He fixed himself a drink while he waited and sat heavily in the chair he’d owned for as long as he’d lived in his own quarters, half his mind following Biggs as best he could, sensing anticipation from him and a vague frustration that mirrored Luke’s own feelings. Still, nothing seemed wrong and that eased Luke’s concerns. Though at this point, he figured he would have to live with always being anxious when Biggs wasn’t at his side.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed, willing the Force to calm him to the best of its ability.

In this case, perhaps not surprisingly, it wasn’t helping quite as much as he’d have liked.

**XXVII**

How long were briefings supposed to take anyway?

**XXVIII**

The door slid open, programmed just the same as it had been from the start, Biggs striding in like he owned the place, his hand tugging at the collar of his flight suit. There was something wild in his eyes and Luke was only half out of his seat before Biggs loomed above him, bent toward him, bracketed him with both arms on the armrests.

Needless to say, Luke resumed his seat, if only to gain back a bit of the space he’d lost.

“You’re a frustrating man, Luke Skywalker,” he said, searching Luke’s face like it held every answer he could ever hope to have. “I can’t believe I never saw it before.”

Luke swallowed around the dryness in his throat, the awkward lump lodging itself there, and everything else that threatened to choke his voice. “You didn’t?” he said. And though he meant the part about being frustrating, he wasn’t unaware that Biggs could easily construe it another way entirely.

“No, I didn’t. I always thought you were fucking with me.” He huffed in amusement, his bangs whipping this way and that as he shook his head. Luke wouldn’t have admitted it, but he was a little surprised by the course language—surprised and not a little, well… “I’ll be damned.”

“What changed your mind?”

“ _You_ did.” He nudged Luke’s legs together and planted his knees on either side of Luke’s thighs, not quite in Luke’s lap, but close enough to it that Luke almost toppled him the rest of the way with a gentle press of the Force between Biggs’s shoulder blades. “Now I’m going to do something incredibly impetuous, but I hope you’ll understand.”

“What do you—” But before Luke could finish speaking, Biggs had pressed his mouth to Luke’s and for a moment, all Luke could think was _his mustache is softer than it looks_. Then he got with the program, grabbing Biggs by every loop on his damned flight suit—the Force could be useful, it turned out—and dragged him forward, one hand cupping Biggs’s jaw, the other tangling in Biggs’s hair.

Pressing closer, Biggs’s tongue slid between Luke’s lips briefly, deft and teasing. He bit at Luke’s mouth, moaned against Luke’s cheek as he pulled away to take a breath.

“I told you to call me by my name,” Luke said, inhaling deeply. “What did you think that meant?”

“Yeah,” Biggs said, settling more firmly on Luke’s lap. “That was kind of weird.” He leaned forward, face inches from Luke’s. “To be fair, I didn’t know that was your way of saying you liked me.”

“I asked you to dinner.” Luke thought back, but he was unable to count the number of times they’d shared a meal. “A lot.”

“You should’ve just told me,” Biggs pointed out. And maybe he was right. But something told Luke this had been the right way to go about it. Even after everything. They’d gotten here and Luke still wasn’t quite sure he believed it.

“Maybe.” Shifting, Luke groaned, barely holding himself together. They needed—he needed… “We have to—”

Biggs made a grab for his tunic, pulling at the closures. “We really do,” he answered, affable and eager both.

“No, I mean… we have to be careful.” Luke brought his hands up to frame Biggs’s face. “The Emperor wanted me back here for a reason. I don’t want to give him cause to look at you.”

Biggs went almost preternaturally still beneath Luke’s touch, clouds of anger and need darkening his eyes. And Luke wanted to ignore his own misgivings. He wanted to pretend the Emperor wasn’t a problem he needed to solve sooner rather than later.

“You don’t have to protect me,” Biggs said, turning his head into Luke’s touch.

The pad of Luke’s thumb brushed over Biggs’s lips, dipped briefly into Biggs’s mouth. “I do have to, but I would even if I didn’t. I don’t take lovers indiscriminately and I don’t open myself up to the Emperor’s machinations when I can help it. And this’ll be opening up all sorts of possibilities. You need to know that. And you need to know I’ll do whatever it takes to close each one of them back up.”

The muscles in Biggs’s throat jumped and his jaw tightened. “I’ve had a target on my back ever since I said yes to you on Tatooine.” His teeth flashed, chewing slightly on his lip. “I’m not going to stop saying yes now. Do you understand?”

_What did I do to deserve you?_

Letting go of Biggs’s face, Luke pushed at his shoulder, grabbing him by the elbow to help him stand. Taking the hand Biggs offered in turn, he got to his feet, too.

“I’m not afraid of the Emperor,” Biggs said, serious, deadly serious.

“I wish you didn’t have to be.”

“Honestly, I think I preferred the kissing,” Biggs said, adopting a jovial tone that didn’t match the fiercer look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Luke said, willing to let it go for now, “me, too.” Jerking his shoulder toward his bedroom, he grabbed Biggs’s hand. “Let’s try it again, huh?”

**XXIX**

Biggs pressed Luke into the bed, pulled expertly at his clothes, kissed down Luke’s neck, his chest, his stomach. Luke fought the urge to buck up against Biggs’s mouth. He felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin, his heart clawing at his ribs, his body alive in a way it hadn’t been in years.

Even the Force felt closer, dancing at the edge of his awareness, something both beautiful and light, strange and new, as responsive as he’d ever felt it. Luke wouldn’t have been able to explain it to Biggs even if he’d wanted to. And he did want to. For the first time since he was a kid, first discovering the Force, he wanted to share it.

“Good?” Biggs asked, lifting his head, chin resting against Luke’s abdomen, a goofy smile on his face.

Luke hauled him up by the arm, flipped them and pushed him into the bed. It was a little harder to get Biggs out of his flight suit, but Luke was more than up to the task. “Yeah,” he said, hand slipping into Biggs’s briefs. “It’s good.”

**XXX**

“Continue your search, young Skywalker,” the Emperor said, so much smaller in person than Luke remembered. Then again, the last time they’d spoken face-to-face, Luke had barely entered puberty, a scrawny slip of a thing, easily cowed, easily angered. He remembered the Emperor frightening him, his eyes yellow, skin waxy and sallow where you could see it from beneath the cowl of his robe.

He wasn’t that boy any longer. And Luke wasn’t sure the Emperor realized that. That was the Emperor’s mistake.

And Luke hoped he stayed that ignorant of the truth.

His knee twinged against the unforgiving marble floor of the Emperor’s throne room and he was intimately aware of the handful of Force-sensitive guards surrounding the Emperor’s throne, red sentinels, silent and still and no threat at all to a man with Luke’s skill and training. “I will not fail you.”

“My boy,” the Emperor said, standing awkwardly and shuffling down the steps from his throne. “I don’t doubt that in the slightest.”

Luke’s lip twitched in amusement and disgust both. “Thank you, my master,” he said, showing a degree of daring he might not have tried from his quarters on the _Avenger_. But if the Emperor wanted to fail to see the man before him, who should Luke make it harder for the Emperor to believe his own version of the truth?

“All in good time,” the Emperor said. His laugh was dry and paper-thin. And though he neared Luke, he maintained an awkward distance, too. New since the last time they’d seen one another in person. Maybe the Emperor wasn’t a complete fool. Maybe he knew he’d surrounded himself with snakes. “All in good time.”

**XXXI**

“What are you doing?” Biggs asked, coming up behind Luke to lean against the back of his chair, his arms crossed against Biggs’s shoulders, his fingers playing with the hair around Luke’s neck.

Luke lifted a piece of flimsy, rattling it in illustration. “Lieutenant Sitcha is sending me updates on Needa’s progress.”

“Good news?”

“It’s not bad news,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t help me much anyway.” Flinging the sheet aside, the thing slipping across the carpet, Luke tilted his head back to look up at Biggs. “It’s out of my hands.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” Luke said. “No, we just sit and wait and keep an eye out.”

“You think you can handle that?”

“I spent a lot longer doing that than I’ve been on the board.” Tugging on a too-long lock of hair, he twisted around to better look at Biggs. “You think you can handle it?”

“I grew up on Tatooine, remember? We got a lot of practice doing nothing there. I’ll manage.”

Luke grinned crookedly, feeling little genuine humor about the situation, but still willing to try for no other reason than because he was stubborn and he could. “I guess we’ll just have to think of something to keep us occupied.”

Biggs, equally dry, said, “I knew there was going to be an upside to this whole thing somewhere.”

**XXXII**

The least that Luke could do, he thought, was wander into the woods a little.

The Imperial databases really were chock full of interesting, valuable, _precise_ information about woods—of all sorts. Temperate forests. Rainforests. Temperate rainforests. Planets full of ancient groves hundreds of feet tall. Planets full of forests that lived and died and lived again in cycles so fast no one was sure how they grew at all—and not enough people cared to look into it. Planets and planets full of every sort of tree you could hope to find.

It turned out there were lots and lots of forested planets out there.

But only a few struck Luke as probable sites for the building of a battle station. After all, forests were resource-rich. Beings tended to flock to resource-rich planets. Even in a galaxy of plenty for all—at least in the abstract—there was always someone who wanted to exploit nature.

He’d narrow down the list, he knew.

Getting the information out might be a little trickier, but Luke was nothing if not resourceful.

**XXXIII**

“Is it Endor?” he asked, the holoprojector so caught up in static that he couldn’t even see Aphra’s face in it. He’d bounced the signal through so many different locations, there wasn’t a slicer that Luke knew of who’d be able to trace the call, where it had started and where it had ended up.

“That would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Aphra replied, a monstrous version of her voice echoing from the other end of the galaxy.

“Can you get word to the rebels?”

“That is not part of our agreement, Vader-lite.”

“The Emperor wants to kill my father,” he replied, sharp. Earnest. It probably didn’t matter how he sounded. It would just end up distorted in the cramped little cabin of her personal shuttle anyway. Whether she believed him… that was the important part. “You could strike a blow and no one would be the wiser.”

She paused, perhaps gathering her thoughts and arguments. “This is treason.”

“You think furnishing my father with an army isn’t? You think the Emperor would see the distinction?”

“I don’t care what the Emperor sees. I only care about what I see and what your father sees.”

“You might come to regret that attitude,” Luke said. As much as he hated issuing threats—getting people to do what he wanted was so much easier without having to push them into the ground first—he could if he needed to.

“Wow,” Aphra replied, deadpan. “I’m shaking over here.”

 _The problem with Aphra,_ he thought, _is she can be so very obvious_. And no matter how much bravado she adopted, he knew the truth. She was afraid of the Emperor. She was afraid of his father. And she was probably afraid of him, too. “All I need is a whisper.”

“Whispers aren’t cheap these days.”

She didn’t, he knew, mean the cost in credits. “What is anymore?”

“Not a thing.” The image shook; she must have accidentally kicked her holoprojector. “Okay, Skywalker. You’ve got your whisper. And you’re going to remember it the next time _I_ need something.”

**XXXIV**

On the first anniversary of the destruction of Alderaan, Luke got drunk on the Emperor’s too expensive, yet still disgusting, champagne and alienated the least important guests at the reception he could get away with insulting without reprimand.

In the morning, Biggs brought him a hangover cure and a sympathetic ear.

It wasn’t what Luke wanted, but that didn’t stop Luke from taking everything given to him with both hands and a smile and a quiet word of thanks.

He gave the Emperor a name of a planet—home to a small rebel base, the best he’d come up with, he told the Emperor through Mas Amedda. He had reason to believe they’d abandoned the idea of planetary settlements, he told the vizier, and had instead amassed a fleet.

Might the Emperor allow him to lay a trap?

*

Krennic or Tarkin issued the order that destroyed Dantooine, but it really didn’t matter to Luke which of them did it.

Just that they did it at all.

*

And the rebels did not, in fact, ensnare themselves in the web Luke had _so very carefully_ set for them. A funny thing about traps: when you can see them coming, it’s quite easy to avoid them.

**XXXV**

On the second anniversary, he meditated and pondered upon the very real possibility that he’d made a mistake.

He realized, too, that he’d lied to Biggs, though perhaps he hadn’t known it at the time.

It was far, far harder to stay off the board than he’d thought it would be.

**XXXVI**

“Direct—oh, that’s right. You’ve made Admiral now,” Luke said, gaze flicking vaguely to the rank squares on his chest, feigning a cordiality he didn’t feel for a man he would have gladly tossed in front of the Death Star’s feared laser arrays if given half the chance. Too bad the same couldn’t be said of most of the people at this gathering… each of whom would have gladly tugged at Krennic’s cape for the chance to bend his ear. The man of the hour, that was Krennic. The only thing that made it bearable was knowing Krennic probably hated the useless fawning as much as Luke hated seeing it. “Congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you, my lord,” he answered, the fully intended slight rolling off his back, well aware of what Luke meant by it and somehow letting it slide anyway. Maybe he’d grown as a person since the last time they met. “It’s always been the greatest honor to serve at the Emperor’s pleasure. To know that he considers me worthy of the admiralty at all is… I’m very lucky.”

Luke kept his features carefully blank. _You’re out of practice,_ he thought, not a little vicious—and not a little disappointed—it used to be Krennic could cut you down with a word, insult or compliment you in a way that you couldn’t be sure which was which. He’d never been this obvious before. _You’ve been too long aboard that monstrosity of yours_. “The white uniform always did suit you,” Luke said after a moment’s deliberation. _You’ve lost your touch_. “What brings you back to Imperial Center?”

When Krennic grinned, it was more like a grimace and may well have been better suited to a corpse. Life aboard the Death Star had apparently not been very good to him, but that served him right. Let him rot on that thing for starting unnecessary fires wherever that battle station goes. “Work,” he answered, grandiose, “always the work.”

“What kind of work could bring you back from the Death Star?” Luke asked, keeping his interest light despite how desirous he was of the answer. “I didn’t think anyone could pry you from its bridge. You’re practically married to it.”

Krennic swallowed and his eyes cut to Biggs as he stepped up beside Luke, three glasses held in his hand. Whatever his answer was to be, it was lost in the wake of Biggs’s arrival. “Admiral Krennic,” he said, lifting one of the glasses, amber liquid sloshing inside. The smile he shot Krennic was apologetic. “I’ve always heard you’re a wine man. Unfortunately, the selection is rather terrible tonight. I hope you don’t mind whiskey.”

“Not at all,” Krennic answered, perplexed, taking the glass with slow, deft fingers. “Thank you.” His eyes drifted, rather rudely, to glimpse at Biggs’s chest. “Commander, is it?”

“Yes, sir,” Biggs answered, handing off a second glass to Luke. “Biggs Darklighter.”

“Commander Darklighter, of course.” Lips thinning, he sipped the drink, a single, large cube of ice tinkling against the bottom and sides of the glass. Eyebrows lifting in surprised and reluctant acceptance of the whiskey’s flavor—as well he should, considering its provenance—he returned his attention to Luke. “I have grown accustomed to life on a battle station, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less happy to return when I’ve been called back.”

“I’m sure the capital is equally happy to have you back,” Luke answered, as gracious as he could bring himself to be. “You have a singular talent for what you do.”

Krennic didn’t buy it of course, but he maintained the fiction with a tilt of his head. “Thank you for your generous words, Lord Skywalker. I hope to put whatever talents I possess to good use here again.”

 _Again_.

Luke didn’t like to press at people’s minds with the Force. It was always a tricky proposition and earned him little useful information, but he was willing to try here. As sharp as Krennic was, he was just about the most Force-blind individual Luke had ever come across. Most of Krennic’s thoughts were preoccupied with abhorring the fact he was wasting his time here—a sentiment Luke could wholeheartedly agree with—but a little bit of it…

He sensed frustration, failed equipment, death, something to do with the Death Star’s lasers. Krennic’s last, greatest contribution to the Death Star project had been delivering Galen Erso into Project Celestial Power’s grasps. And though they’d solved the problem once, it looked like…

Ha. The solution couldn’t be replicated.

Not yet anyway.

And Krennic had already handled Galen Erso, due in part to Luke’s meddling.

Oh, this was perfect. Or as perfect as anything could get at the moment. “If there’s ever anything I can do to help,” Luke said, rubbing salt into a wound Krennic wasn’t aware he knew existed, “let me know?”

“I will, of course. Excuse me, my lord,” Krennic answered, by now distracted, ready to move on to someone more likely to be of interest to him. Too bad he was stuck here with people like this, all of whom were purportedly here to welcome Krennic back, willing to use any excuse, even one as flimsy as this, to throw a get together. None of them were Krennic’s friends though. And none of them were of great interest. If the rumors were true, there was only one person who’d ever fit that bill and he was gone now.

Well, if Luke had to show up to events he didn’t particularly care to be at, he could at least take comfort in Krennic not enjoying it either. And anyway he appreciated getting something out of the deal while Krennic had nothing:

Time.

Time was probably the greatest gift Krennic could have given him.

“Why are you smiling?” Biggs asked, scant inches between his body and Luke’s, his mouth close to Luke’s ear. Both actions were entirely appropriate given the occasion. There were so many people here that any conversation that you wanted to keep private would need to be conducted intimately. In fact, quite a few other people were doing just that. That didn’t stop a shiver from going up Luke’s spine at Biggs’s proximity to him though.

“I can’t be happy?”

“Not with Krennic around. I wasn’t even here that long before he was assigned full time to DS-1 and I knew that.”

“Perhaps I’ve turned over a new leaf,” Luke said, facing him fully, offering a challenge.

The musicians hired to provide the entertainment for the evening’s event roused themselves from the formless background sounds they’d been plucking on their instruments, alerting every guest to clear the center of the ballroom unless they wanted to dance. “Shall we?” Luke asked, lifting his hand. Whether he genuinely wanted to dance or not, he couldn’t say, and why he offered now of all times, he also couldn’t articulate.

“Somewhere more private perhaps,” Biggs answered, more serious than Luke, hustling him toward the wall along with fewer attendees than one might have guessed about them. Considering how truly dour the majority of them looked, how decrepit and tedious and joyless, a lot of them sure did seem to find the possibility of a waltz exciting. “I never did pick up on ballroom dancing.” He quirked a smile Luke’s way, full of warning, a question in his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

“It’s not so hard.” But Biggs was probably right. Better not to. Not where anyone could see and judge and talk. Regardless… “You’re not an embarrassment.”

Biggs rolled his eyes. “Not _yet_ anyway. You haven’t seen me dance.”

“I could teach you.”

A disbelieving huff of amusement from Biggs was better than a full-throated laugh from anyone else. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” Luke said, even more pleased with how this evening has gone. More information about the Emperor’s plans and a promise that Biggs would dance with him later. He hadn’t even had to pay up for the former. It couldn’t get much better than that. “I hope you do.”

**XXXVII**

“I would like,” the Emperor said, his voice barely a rasp at this point, “for you to accompany me to Endor.”

With his head bowed over his knee, his other foot tucked beneath him, he was able to protect himself from projecting his shock to the Emperor, his dismay, his nervousness. “As you wish, my master,” he said. Careful, he asked, hedging, “Might I ask what’s on Endor?”

The Emperor laughed and it grated on every nerve Luke had, pained Luke in a way that nothing else could. It was unsettling, the Emperor’s laugh was, and it bode ill wherever it was heard. “Our legacy.”

Luke breathed deeply and closed his eyes and reminded himself that this was what he wanted.

“And bring that commander of yours. He might find the trip of great interest as well.”

And though the Emperor might have phrased it as a request, Luke knew it wasn’t and he was not pleased.

**XXXVII**

Still. There would be no hiding from the rebels that both the Emperor and Darth Vader’s son were making an impromptu trip to the newly constructed Death Star. Luke couldn’t have set out better bait if he’d tried.

How he was going to get out of his own trap was another matter entirely. Another matter indeed.

**XXXIX**

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Biggs asked, watching with bemused largesse as Luke pulled at his dress uniform and backed him up against the wall. Whatever had brought Biggs to Luke’s quarters could wait. Any other time, it would have been amusing, the way Biggs so unself-consciously followed Luke’s lead, the way he let Luke manhandle him about with so little concern for his own safety. Right now, Luke didn’t much care about Biggs’s question and would, in fact, much rather forget that everything had fallen into place, but the configuration was all wrong. All the planning and the scheming and the waiting. Every move he’d made for the last two and a half, three years, brought to a completely different conclusion than Luke had expected.

And the Emperor knew. He had to know something at least.

With that in mnd, ‘what the hell has gotten into you’ was a complicated question.

The whole point had been to keep Biggs out of harm’s way. To keep _himself_ out of harm’s way. The goal was never to attack the Emperor directly.

And he didn’t yet know how he was going to solve this particular problem.

But now that he had this opportunity, he couldn’t just throw it away.

No matter the cost.

No matter _most_ costs anyway.

“Do me a favor,” Luke said, pressing his hand to Biggs’s mouth while Biggs, with far more audacity than most men would have displayed, took the opportunity to bite at the heel of Luke’s palm. “Don’t ask questions.”

The likely outcome of this power play was death. If he did nothing, if he hoped the Emperor wasn’t smart enough or close enough to see, that likelihood turned to certainty.

The Emperor had called his bluff whether he knew it or not. Worse, he’d called a bluff Luke hadn’t realized he was making.

Taking his hand away from Biggs’s mouth, he pinched Biggs’s chin between his thumb and the first joint of his index finger. “Do you trust me?”

Biggs nodded, eyes dark, lips quirking suggestively. It was an answer of sorts, not a complete one, though Biggs probably thought it was. Still, Luke took it to be true beyond the bounds of this moment and hoped Biggs wouldn’t hate him too much by the end of this.

Striding forward those last handful of inches, Luke pressed himself against Biggs, chest to thighs and kissed him, free hand sliding between their bodies.

If Luke was unlucky, whether Biggs hated him or not wouldn’t matter anyway.

**XL**

As the shuttle approached DS-2, even Luke had to admit he was impressed… if only to himself. Glancing up from the various monitors and readouts being spit at him, he almost did a double take. It might not have _looked_ like much, its half-finished innards exposed, but it was huge and menacing and Luke wanted nothing more than he wanted it gone.

This _thing_ was not how you maintained order, not lasting order anyway as evidenced by the rebels. The Republic might have gone wrong in the end, might have needed a guiding hand and a singular leader and a galactic purpose, but it had taken thousands of years for opposition to amass on a large enough scale to threaten it. The Empire had accomplished the same within the span of Luke’s lifetime.

Biggs leaned forward to peer out of the viewport, whistling. “Whatever it lacks in style,” he said, faux cheerful, still managing to keep his trajectory perfect, “it sure does make up for it in… size.”

“Yeah,” Luke answered, vague. No wonder Krennic was having problems getting it operational. Luke had half a mind to wonder how they kept it in place above Endor. Which—that was admittedly one of the more ridiculous questions he could have asked. He knew how.

His eyes just didn’t want to believe it was physically possible.

“Take us in easy, Biggs.”

**XLI**

Luke woke in a cold sweat, drawing in gasping breathes, his heart racing. Remnants of the dream he’d had clung to his awareness, specters of explosions flaring behind his eyes, the Death Star’s destruction writ large in his field of vision and beyond.

The force field that covered the exposed half of the battle station unsettled him. Despite every precaution—there was airlock upon airlock between the unfinished section and the finished section—Luke waited with the expectation that it would fail or overload and somehow take out the rest of the place. A paranoid, probably superstitious idea, but one that wouldn’t leave him alone.

He knew what was truly bothering him though. It didn’t take a genius to figure that much out.

**XLII**

“Baby brother,” Leia said, the widest smile in her arsenal on her face, the one she reserved for him alone. “It’s been too long.”

“I need your help,” he said instead of _yes, it has_ or _I’m older than you by three minutes_ even though the urge to delay his admission was almost impossible to ignore.

A flurry of different emotions crossed Leia’s face. Delight, worry, anger. None of them directed at him specifically, though he was the cause of all of them indirectly. “What is it?” she asked, her words weighted with unnamed threats. She would cross the galaxy for him if she thought it would help him and woe to the individual he pointed her toward.

“Can you move some cargo for me?”

“I can move anything for you.” She grinned again, eyes lighting up at the possibilities. “Just give me a place and a time. I’ve got just the man to do it.”

**XLIII**

“Kid, you throw enough credits on the table, I’ll babysit your, uh, _mister_ personally,” the infamous Han Solo said as he was led out of DS-2’s hangar bay. Though here on little more than a feeble excuse and Luke’s say so, no one questioned either of them. Not even as Luke herded him into one of the pilots’ ready rooms. “Lovely base you’ve got here. Leia sends her regards. And a whole lotta something to be delivered to some guy named Krennic.”

“Mister?” _Kid?_ He’d have to thank Leia later for coming up with a decent cover story.

“Yeah, Leia said…” Then, apparently putting two and two together and coming up with a peal of delighted, raucous laughter, he clapped Luke on the shoulder. “I guess Leia’s not right about everything. I knew I was right. Offer stands though. You want him off this ship, I can get him out.” Han Solo, as Luke found out at this very moment, possessed a shit-eating grin that could have put the most shameless person alive out of business. Jamming his finger in Luke’s shoulder, Han nodded, immensely pleased with the world and himself—mostly himself. “Tell you what? I’ll throw in the kidnapping free. It can be my little gift to you.”

“I don’t just want him out; I want him as far from Endor as you can possibly get him.” _Who the hell are you?_ Frowning, Luke glowered, suspicious. “And just why would you want to _give_ me anything?”

Han laughed again. “Your sister and I hitched ourselves up good and proper a couple of months ago. She’s been meaning to get a hold of you, but we’d gotten ourselves caught up in a bit of trouble with Jabba the Hutt. Welcome to the family.”

“That’s—” Luke wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence, because he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. So he’d deal with it another time. “Congratulations. I don’t know where Leia is, but make sure she’s as far from Endor as you can get her, too. And maybe stay away from Jabba the Hutt in the future.” _I don’t like you doing me any favors_.

“I’ll probably only manage to hit atmosphere if she doesn’t want to leave home, but I’ll do what I can,” he answered, easy. Sobering, he bit at the corner of his mouth. “You’re trying something big, huh?”

“No,” Luke said. “I just don’t want all my weaknesses close at hand.”

“Sure, kid, uh huh. That kinda attitude might just see you through whatever it is you’re _not_ doing.” He scratched at his ear and looked toward the ceiling. Coughing into his shoulder, he let his gaze find Luke’s again and lifted his hands in apology. “But whatever it is or isn’t, it ain’t my business obviously. Good luck.” Han held his hand out for Luke to shake, a strange gesture from a strange man.

Luke wasn’t sure what his sister saw in him, but see something she did.

So he shook.

“Thanks, Han. I’ll owe you one.”

**XLIV**

“I miss the flight suit,” Luke said, pulling Biggs forward by his hips. He’d seated himself on the chair in his quarters, so much less welcoming than back on Imperial Center, utilitarian and ugly and uniformly gray. Biggs came willingly enough, a laugh in his mouth as Luke tugged at the clasps that kept Biggs’s tunic closed.

“Haven’t had much need for it,” Biggs said. “I think the Emperor doesn’t trust Gray Squadron much. We haven’t even been cleared for training exercises even though everyone on the base is working overtime.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Luke answered, both angry at the Emperor’s prudence and paranoia and relieved by it. He had good reason to distrust Luke’s people, but Luke didn’t have to like it. On the other hand, Luke had heard the people down in COMINT were picking up unrecognized scans. Which only meant one thing. “The Emperor’s like that with everyone.” _Except his own people, I guess. Except for the people he should distrust_.

“I was flattered until you said that.” Biggs’s left hand settled on Luke’s shoulder; his right mussed Luke’s hair, scratched at the back of Luke’s neck, making him shiver. “Here I thought I was special. To think: the Emperor himself distrusts _me_.”

Luke, still preoccupied with Biggs’s clothing, tugged at Biggs’s undershirt. “Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“You’re not.” Biggs groaned, low, as Luke kissed at his abdomen. His hand tightened in Luke’s hair. “But I can live with that.”

Biggs’s skin was so, so warm and as Luke played at the waistband of his trousers, his chest filled with air and relaxed again, diaphragm rising and falling at a quickening pace. “Well, as long as you’re willing.”

Gripping Luke by the wrist, Biggs pulled him up, strong despite the awkwardness of their relative positions. “I’m willing. Let me show you?”

Luke nodded, eagerness and uneasiness twining in his gut. He’d started this and he would gladly finish it, but first… “There’s something I need you to know.”

Biggs’s brow arched, his cheek dimpling as a twitching smile formed on his mouth. The heat in his eyes was tempered by a softness Luke wasn’t sure he’d seen there before. Bending forward slightly, he pressed a kiss to Luke’s mouth. “Luke, you don’t have to say anything. I already know.”

“Biggs.”

Biggs pressed his mouth against Luke’s again, short and sweet and making an eloquent point in Biggs’s favor. “I _know_ , okay?” He jerked his head toward the bedroom. “How about you show me instead?”

Later, with Biggs sprawled against Luke’s bed, arms circling the pillow, only the back of his head visible to Luke as he slept, Luke’s fingers followed the line of his spine, his ribs, his shoulder blades. Luke kissed the back of his neck. “I hope you’ll forgive me.” His hand came to rest on the side of Biggs’s face. With the Force, he planted a suggestion that Biggs remain asleep no matter what happened, that he wouldn’t wake up until twelve standard hours had passed regardless of what conspired around him. Climbing out of bed, he reached for his comlink.

“He’s all yours,” Luke said, cold, quiet.

“You got it, kid,” Han replied, immediate and more serious than Luke had heard out of him during their prior meeting. Luke appreciated that. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Han had been ready with a quip instead.

Nothing good probably.

**XLV**

Klaxons sounded, a resounding chorus of screams that every Imperial officer had been trained to treat as normal, as easily contained, as nothing more than a minor nuisance. Some of them—particularly the younger ones, bizarrely—handled it better than others, like Krennic, who saw fit to stomp and rage about the observation deck, yelling at anyone who came within feet of him.

“What in the hell— _you_.” He grabbed hold of some poor lieutenant barely out of the Imperial Academy, shook him by the shoulder. “Get someone from COMINT up here. I want to know what this is and why nobody was aware of it before now.” Shoving the young man toward the exit, who barely refrained from stumbling, he added, impressively loud considering the pandemonium taking place around him, “ _Go_.”

His eyes caught Luke’s, raging in a way that almost, _almost_ made Luke flinch, but Luke stood his ground, placid. Neither of them exchanged a word, but Luke was left with the very uneasy feeling that Krennic knew.

That would not work for Luke. Not this close to the end.

Turning away, he twisted his wrist just so.

What Krennic didn’t know about internal bleeding would definitely hurt him.

**XLVI**

Striding with meticulous, deliberate slowness, Luke made his way through the long, straight hallways that would eventually lead to the Emperor’s private throne room. Rarely did Luke get the chance to feel unnoticed and unnoticeable, but throw a fleet’s worth of rebels at a problem and it seemed he got to be both. No one paid him much mind except when he was in their way and they were forced to twist and step aside to avoid running into him. A few offered cursory greetings, but even they were more intent on their jobs than on him.

It was refreshing.

It was a short-lived respite at best.

If Luke let himself feel anything, he wouldn’t have been able to walk at all. But he was here. He’d put this into motion. He had to see it through if he wanted to survive.

If he wanted to see Biggs again.

So he locked everything except his determination away, his frustration, his bone-deep conviction that the Empire could succeed where the Republic failed if the Emperor was removed from its helm.

As soon as he reached his destination, a pair of the Emperor’s Guards stopped him, their pikes aimed directly at Luke’s heart until the Emperor’s touch—dark in the Force, as oily and grimy as anything you’d find leaking from a poorly maintained ship—in the back of their minds urged them to step aside.

“Thank you,” Luke said, inclining his head at both of them. He couldn’t see their faces behind the red plumed helmets they wore, but he hoped they were dismayed.

“Emperor, I apologize for—” Luke stopped, a familiar silhouette hunched over like a rock in the middle of the floor, dark and unyielding, the mind inside of it furious. “Father.”

Vader said nothing and the Emperor—the Emperor wasn’t looking at either of them, sitting in his chair, back turned to both. All Luke could feel out of either of them was a miasma of anger, not so different from usual, though more intense.

A headache began to build behind his eyes.

His boots snapped crisply against the polished floor and his knee thudded in the silence as he took it. Compared to the man next to him, Luke looked small. He _felt_ small somewhere deep down inside of him, a place that could still manage to make his palms sweat, his heartbeat pound furiously in his ears.

“Your father,” the Emperor said, “has come to warn of us of an impending rebel attack against this base.”

“He’s a little bit late for that, I think,” Luke answered, careful, unwilling to give too much away while he didn’t know what his father was up to. Or even what the Emperor was up to now. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities that Aphra had given him up or that Vader had simply found out. And it wasn’t impossible that Vader would decide to share the truth with the Emperor if he knew.

Unlikely perhaps, but not impossible.

Take a chance and trust his father? Or strike before Vader could ruin his plans?

Luke reached out with the Force, prodded at the mental walls Vader had long ago constructed. They were faulty in places, the duracrete loose and easily pried free—another Jedi technique he’d learned, though perhaps not one they advertised too often.

“It’s too bad you didn’t consider bringing your droids to assist our fighters,” Luke said, even and cool. “The men and women who will likely die in this conflict might have appreciated the assistance.”

That caught the Emperor’s attention. Like a lightning bolt, it struck both Luke and, he presumed, Vader. And if the sharp inhale Vader gave was any indication, it might well have hurt him to be under that kind of scrutiny from his master.

A good sign maybe.

“Your son speaks the truth,” the Emperor said. “A truth you kept from me. What have you to say, Lord Vader?”

Vader’s bent body shifted slightly, his mask turning to allow Vader to look at Luke. Luke didn’t return the favor, only seeing him out of the corner of his eye. He remained silent, defiant, forcing Luke to consider his options.

What few options remained to him after he’d gambled away that first chip anyway.

“I have nothing, my Master.” Vader’s voice modulator hitched on the words and Luke couldn’t tell whether it was a malfunction or whether something Luke had said struck a chord. Frankly, Luke didn’t want to know which it was.

“Then I have no further use for you,” the Emperor said. “Lord Skywalker?”

Though the Emperor didn’t foul the air with his request, it was obvious enough what he wanted from Luke. A catch. A trick. A test.

But if he passed—if he _passed_. He might just get the chance…

 _He’s your father_. — _You hate him_. — _He’s your family_. — _You have your own family_.

“Yes,” Luke answered, the tension inside of him easing. He knew what he had to do. The Force still didn’t sing to him, but it urged him forward, told him this was the right path with honeyed words and certain. “My master.”

The lightsaber on his belt flew into his hand, ignited, washing the room in red. But though Vader was slower, he still had enough wits about him to free his own and power enough to strike first. Their blades hissed and Luke’s hands vibrated with each blow, relentless.

Relentless, yet bloodless, too, lacking in the predatory finesse Vader had always been known for. _You’re holding back, old man_. Well, if he was willing to do that…

With the Force, Luke tore free from the walls anything that could come down, shooting projectiles at Vader as he stalked backward. Most of them hit his lightsaber, Vader moving it this way and that in elegant little motions to catch the debris. Some of it—with Luke’s help—struck at the life-support regulator set into the chest piece of his armor, pinging and clattering and doing little but dent the plastoid.

“You are a fool, my son,” Vader said. “The Emperor is merely using you to get rid of me.”

Lashing out with his lightsaber, Luke struck a light blow against the forearm of Vader’s suit. “Then we are of a like mind,” Luke answered. It was difficult to maintain his anger; he’d occasionally thought to take his blade to the man before him, especially when he was younger, but he’d never done it. And now that he was here, it was almost impossible.

 _Would the Emperor know_? Luke tried to shield his thoughts, but there was so much happening that Luke couldn’t guarantee…

Vader turned away and flung his lightsaber at the Emperor, the blade and hilt spinning, a stupid, pointless action, a surprise attack that the Emperor saw coming—of course he saw it coming, even if Luke didn’t—that— _why would he_ do _that?_

Luke launched himself at Vader’s back, drilled his own lightsaber into the pack attached to Vader’s armor, air spewing from within it, bringing Vader immediately to his knees, gasping.

His father’s lightsaber clattered to the ground at Luke’s feet.

Luke swung wide, his blade slicing through helmet and muscle and bone. With a dull thud, his father’s body listed to the side, his head…

His head…

The Force or intuition or simply Luke’s own body pushed him to his knees again, head bowing forward. His mind blurred and sharpened in turn, thoughts eddying as he tried to—to…

The Emperor laughed, his steps echoing off the floor. Luke hadn’t even realized he’d stood up, that he was walking. “Good,” he said, voice barely a croak, harsh and breathless. “Good.” The Emperor took another handful of slow, shuffling steps. And another.

The Dark Side swirled around Luke, a storm of sound, cacophonous, enough so that Luke’s head ached and his ears rang and he—

The Emperor stood above him, closer than he’d ever been to Luke before. His delight was overwhelming and when he caressed Luke’s face, Luke shivered under the touch, half his mind turned to the thought of fulfilling his destiny as the Emperor’s apprentice. How much more could he learn?

It would be so good. It would—

Luke’s eyes caught on the flash of his father’s helmet.

“Rise,” the Emperor said, cold, paper-dry fingers under Luke’s chin.

Luke’s lightsaber ignited itself in Luke’s hand. His hand raised the lightsaber in turn. His hand, too, shoved it to the hilt through the Emperor’s side, angled upward, scored lung and heart and lung, sliding through spinal column and severing spinal cord. The Force blazed in Luke’s mind, alerting him to every nuance of pain the Emperor felt in that final, brief moment.

Staggering back, Luke watched as the Emperor crumpled to the floor in a heap, smoke rising from the ruin of his robes, the stench of burnt flesh clinging to the air.

The Emperor’s guards tried to stop him from leaving.

Their necks were snapped for their trouble.

**XLVII**

Luke returned to the bridge, picking up the pieces of himself after what he’d just done, pretending that the galaxy hadn’t just shifted on its axis, that his plan had seen itself to fruition and now he would have to pay the consequences of that completion.

Chaos reigned there, officers barking incomprehensible requests at one another and over the comms, so many flying through the air that not a single one of them was distinctly comprehensible. Someone must have removed Krennic from the room, though a hastily cleaned smear of blood, still gleaming under the harsh overhead lights, stood out on the floor. Those people working in its vicinity steered clear.

“Lord Skywalker,” someone said, relieved, their rank squares indicating that they weren’t the newest recruit in the bunch. “Do you have orders, sir? No one can reach—”

“Begin evacuation procedures.” Luke strode toward the viewport.

“Sir?”

“The Emperor is dead.” Crossing his arms, Luke scanned the nearest monitor. The rebel fleet was still too far out to do any damage to the battle station. There was still time. And somehow Luke got the feeling the rebels wouldn’t fire on fleeing ships and shuttles. He’d done it. He’d _done_ it. “Killed by my father. He was avenged.” Luke turned. Faced that not-quite-new-recruit. “But there is no reason for the rest of us to die here, too. Begin evacuation procedures. Ensure that ground troops are apprised of the situation. I will _not_ ask again.”

The officer bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

**XLVIII**

Luke procured the last ship against the advice of every officer who stepped into one before him, unsure and hesitant as he declined each offer. “Please, my lord, we need—” or “What will we do if…?” or “It’s not proper,” on their lips, “no,” and “you’ll be fine,” and “proper is debatable,” and “make sure there’s a ship within range for me to dock with, that’s all I need from you,” on his; hanging now in deep space, both Endor and the second Death Star looming presences in his viewport, green and gray, alive and dead, he glimpsed the approaching rebels. Their numbers were scant despite the fact that they’d sent everything they had to deal with this situation, few enough capital ships that Luke could see why the Emperor thought they were safe.

Luke knew better than anyone that a lack of numbers in the enemy didn’t guarantee safety from them.

Luke would not make the same mistake.

Luke would do better.

 _He_ would win.

Watching as they destroyed the monstrosity the Emperor had built, he knew and, in knowing, felt secure. Relieved, he flipped switches and checked monitors and adjusted the seat that had been Biggs’s since he’d first set foot on Imperial Center. It’d been a long time since he’d flown a TIE of this particular make, but it came back to him as easily as breathing after a fall, the wind knocked only momentarily from your lungs.

There would be no more need for rebels in his new Empire.

**XLIX**

“Where’s Darklighter?” An itch irritated the skin of Luke’s knuckles, the urge to punch Han Solo in his smug, smarmy mouth almost impossible to ignore as the man smirked at him over the comms. Perhaps he hadn’t been clear enough about what he’d wanted from Han, but dropping Biggs off somewhere without so much as telling Luke where he was… that certainly wasn’t it.

“I’ll tell you this much,” Han answered, sucking on the inside of his cheek. “That man’s got a temper on him and he’s none too happy with you.”

“I don’t care. Where is he?”

Han rolled his eyes. “Kept him in lockup a couple of days. When he finally cooled off, he told me he wanted to go home. When it came down the line that the Emperor was dead, I figured either we were all screwed or it was safe enough to take him there. Either way, I wanted him off my ship.”

Tatooine.

Again.

Well, that was nothing if not poignant.

**L**

“It is with a heavy heart that I assume this mantle.” Luke’s eyes remained steady on the red flashing light of the cam droid in front of him, its long arms curved in a semicircle around him, an embrace of sorts. “But the Empire is strong. It will survive the blow done to it by the treachery of my father. And it will thrive despite the losses it has faced. If the rebel victories at Hoth and Endor have shown us anything, it’s that we need to find a new way forward to ensure our security.

“I will be uncompromising should the need arise, but if our brothers and sisters in the Rebellion wish to lay down their weapons, I will accord them fair trials and treatment as is every Imperial citizen’s right.

“The Empire has lost sight of its purpose. Together we can find it again.”

The red light blinked and dimmed and Luke stepped off the dais upon which he stood for the duration of his speech. A handful of assistants clustered around him, people he’d only just picked out of a line-up to help him during the transition. It wasn’t ideal, but they were competent enough as they took the comm mic from him or peppered him with the reactions of HoloNews pundits.

If the Emperor had ever been forced to endure that, Luke had never seen it. But he imagined the Emperor had not seen fit to endure anything of the sort. _Know your enemies_ , he reminded himself. Even when they are just people you don’t know speaking of you in vaguely complimentary terms.

Luke tugged at the hem of his sleeve. “Are we done?”

“Yes, sir,” one of the assistants said, nodding her head quickly.

“Ready my personal shuttle,” Luke said. “There’s an errand that needs doing that can’t wait any longer. I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” another one said, tapping at their datapad. “Right away.”

**LI**

“So.” Biggs leaned against a shovel, his face sheened with sweat, his shirt conspicuously soaked, his eyes both wary and weary as he stood outside the Darklighter homestead. Though he hadn’t been there long—couldn’t have been given Han’s account—his face was already red from the sun, his lips chapped by the heat and the sand. “What do I call you now?”

“Whatever you damned well please,” Luke answered.

Biggs smiled and it was dull compared to what Luke was used to, full of an ache Luke understood all too well as the cause of it. “What does everyone else call you?”

“My lord still,” Luke answered, shrugging. “I never wanted to be an emperor.”

“That’s too bad.” Squinting, Biggs looked away. “It’s funny how things turn out, huh?”

“Are you coming back?”

“Are you ordering me to?”

“The Military Code states—”

“Hang the Military Code.” Biggs’s voice caught on the wind and seemed to amplify, startling in its loudness. Or maybe that was just how it sounded to Luke. “Do you want me back?”

“I never wanted to make you go.”

Scoffing, Biggs stabbed the shovel into the hard-packed sand, cracking the earth around it. “That didn’t stop you.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“It’s a bad idea, me coming back. You could send me somewhere else. I could take Gray Squadron and—”

Luke stamped at the ground, twisting his heel back and forth in the sand crunching beneath his feet. “If that’s what you want.”

Biggs sighed. Shook his head. “You know what your problem is? You think you know everything. And a lot of the time, you’re right. You know that’s not what I want.”

He didn’t actually know that, but it was nice to have confirmation.

“But,” Biggs continued, “we can’t… I can’t…” He waved his hand between them to illustrate as though his point wasn’t perfectly clear. If Luke had thought about it, he might have given up his plan just to avoid this possibility. He didn’t want to lose Biggs’s companionship, but he didn’t want to lose his presence either. “You’re basically the _Emperor_ now. And you lied to me.”

Apparently he could only keep one. And though he wanted to argue, he acquiesced, because keeping one thing was better than keeping none. “Okay, Biggs. Whatever you want.”

“Okay.” Exhaling, his relief echoing in the Force, Biggs nodded. “Good.”

**LII**

“What do you wish to do with it, Lord Skywalker?”

Tarkin glared up at Luke, his cheeks sunken and shadowed, a patchy, pathetic growth of gray splashed across his jaw. He said nothing, his neck muscles tight with the strain he was putting himself through to remain fully upright. He hadn’t gone down easy, that was for sure. And retaking the Death Star had proved challenging.

“Dismantle the battle station.” Luke crossed his legs, folded his arms over his elbows, leaned forward. If Luke took pleasure in giving this particular command in front of the man it would most hurt, Luke gave no indication of it. His attention was fully on Tarkin’s gnarled, bitter face. “We’ll find more productive uses for its resources.”

The room he’d chosen for himself was spartan and austere, clean lines and uniformly lit, a symbol as much as anything. Gone were the former Emperor’s pompous thrones and sumptuous robes and Imperial courts. Gone were the dark, elaborate shadows. Gone were the trappings of the Republic the Emperor had allowed himself and himself alone to keep.

All that remained were his followers and the rebels he’d cultivated through long years of mismanagement and ego.

Luke would happily deal with both of them, though he took more pleasure in one group than the other.

“Yes, sir.”

“And ensure we’re ready to proceed with the tribunals. Quick and clean. There’s no reason to draw this out.” Leaning back, Luke held his arms wide. “I’m afraid you are part of the old order, Tarkin.”

“So it would seem.”

“Is there anything you’d like to say?”

Tarkin lifted his chin. “Not,” he said, precise and utterly proper, “to you.”

“Very well.” Luke nodded at the commander of his stormtrooper corps. The Royal Guards, too, were to be disbanded. “Return him to his cell.”

“Yes, sir.”

The trooper grabbed Tarkin by the arm and turned him. He went willingly enough, Luke supposed, the only sign of strife in the way his hands fisted behind his back, wrists shackled together, the frail cords of muscle standing out, straining obviously.

He would be found guilty. They would all be found guilty.

Every last one of the Emperor’s hangers on.

Luke glanced over at the sentinel standing watch at his side. Clad in dark armor, arms crossed, Biggs stared at Tarkin’s back, quiet—so very quiet these days. It made Luke ache to watch him. “My lord?” he asked and it felt like a dare, a piece of bait, a rejection.

“Nothing,” Luke answered, lifting his hand in quick demonstration that all was well.

Though the smile Biggs suddenly gifted him with was small and hesitant, it broke through the layer of ice that had settled between them. It gave Luke hope. Hope he neither wanted nor needed given his expectations; Biggs wasn’t likely to forgive him. And he had every right to withold it. And there wasn’t a damned thing Luke could reasonably allow himself to do to change his mind.

**LIII**

The rebels gave no response.

Luke hadn’t really expected one.

It was, he thought in retrospect, good that they hadn’t tried to call his bluff. It made what he still had to do so much easier.

**LIV**

Biggs approached Luke with something akin to excitement in his eyes, a sparkle more reminiscent of the Biggs from before Endor—the one who hadn’t known what Luke would do, but perhaps should have. It hurt Luke to see this glimpse into the past and though Luke had learned finally to not turn away from such things, he _wanted_ to.

“Commander Darklighter,” he said, slow and polite and polished, keeping the tenor of their relationship where Biggs had set it. At first, it had been hard to do. But with a year’s worth of practice, everything became easier. Even betraying his own feelings, burying them where he couldn’t inconvenience Biggs with them. “What can I do for you?”

Snapping the piece of flimsy between his hands, Biggs huffed a laugh. “I think it’s more what I can do for you, Lu—my lord.” His cheeks flushed and his speech stumbled slightly, but he recovered before Luke’s heart could do much more than stutter in turn. He shoved the flimsy into Luke’s hand. “The rebel fleet is amassing near Jakku.”

“The fleet?”

“All of it,” Biggs confirmed. “Or so much of it that it might as well be.” He threw his arms open. “It’s over.”

“You found them?” Luke’s eyes flicked down to the confirmation writ large on the flimsy. A long, long list of ship names and classes accosted him.

Biggs nodded. “In my off-hours. It’s been…” Coughing into his fist, he looked away, the excitement becoming something like regret. Then, squaring his shoulders, he looked at Luke. He looked at Luke in a way Luke had thought he’d never see again. “It’s been boring without you next door.”

“Let’s talk about that,” Luke said around a dry throat and a clumsy tongue, “when we get back, huh?” To hell with not taking a chance. Biggs could refuse him if he wanted. Whatever else had changed between them, that hadn’t.

Biggs did not refuse him. On the contrary, Biggs did, in fact, nod, looking far more pleased than Luke recollected. Though, thinking about it, he realized more and more that Biggs had warmed back up to him recently. A great deal more than Luke had let himself realize.

“I’d like that,” Biggs said, but Luke still didn’t let himself hope—not as much as he wanted to.

But maybe, just maybe, he’d get to hear Biggs call him by his given name again, that last perfect piece that remained just out of grasp, that would, Luke thought, set things back to right.


End file.
